Land of the Setting Sun
by Kerberos314
Summary: Two millennia apart didn't change language much. But do the words really mean the same thing when everything else has changed so drastically? Flying machines, ships the size of cities, bombs that can level a village and a world at war. For what do we fight now? For the Emperor, a man we have never seen? No, we fight to maybe understand one another again. WWII X-over
1. One Small Step

**Right, right. Before we get started, for those of you who have payed attention to my other fics thus far, this is what I mean when I say that I'm going to start writing a whole bunch of ideas down in consecutive order. I may end up developing all of them, but they will be given priority based mainly on how public response goes. More reviews means its more likely to see the light of day rather than the cramped Platonic cave of my head. Also, most are very general ideas at this point, so if you want to have a say in what happens, speak up now or forever shut the hell up.**

 **This also includes matters of the working title, as I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. Reference is of course to 'Nihon' or 'the Land of the Rising Sun'.**

 **Premise: 2** **nd** **Century BC, the first emperor of China Qin Shi Huang constructs the first foundations for the Great Wall of China in order to stave off aggressive overtures from their northern neighbors.**

 **However, the invaders the Chinese are worried about aren't the Mongols. A sect apart from those which fled to the Island of Japan, instead retreated inland to Southern Mongolia, where it remained cooped up in civil war until the early 1930's, when the Kwantung army of the Empire of Japan begins to seize land north and south of the Southern Manchuria Railway. These two Japanese-speaking factions meet, and the history of the Second World War is irreparably changed…**

 **I don't own Naruto or any other privately owned work referenced in the creation of this fictional account. Any relation to real names or places are entirely (partially) coincidental and no defamation is intended.**

 **And on a personal note: offensive or inaccurate language used in this work is either intended to create a sense of timeliness or incidental.**

* * *

 _August 7_ _th_ _, 1942_

 _Tulagi Island, Guadalcanal_

It was a dark and stormy night.

Or had it become a dark and stormy day? None of the ship's passengers could see significant change in the miserably dark sky, much as they couldn't see any improvement in the tumultuous black waves over the gunwales of their flimsy craft. The vapid plywood interior of the Higgins boat did nothing to inspire confidence in the 28 leathernecks of the USMC's 2/5 Battalion on their short jaunt from ship to shore, as they prepared to disembark on hostile and unknown beaches.

Exactly eight months to the day after the surprise attack on the US fleet at Pearl Harbor, the restive and eager young men would finally have a shot at vengeance for that underhanded sucker punch which left an aloof nation foaming at the mouth, and an otherwise neutral public fully committed to a prolonged fight.

But with the smooth way things were going (bar the weather), the gaggle of teens did not expect the enemy to put up much of a fight. Especially not for the tiny and insignificant island they could barely see in the distance, despite its strategic location perched just above Australia. Their arrival had apparently gone unnoticed in the horrid gale, if the jungle's silence was any indication. And if their groaning, shallow-draft boat could make it to shore without sinking, they imagined an easy waltz over the beach to overtake the handful of island defenders left after yesterday's heavy bombardment.

*Blarg!*

"God damn it, Arc! How the hell could you become a Marine if you get seasick?"

"Sorry!" The lanky blond apologized, struggling to hold in his hastily chowed breakfast whilst his comrades tried uselessly to distance themselves in that sardine-packed interior, men and equipment spilling over one another as the dingy rocked violently back and forth in the angry tide.

"Jesus, man! Try to pull it together will ya?"

"Na'my fault," He wiped his boyish face on the sleeve of his HBT jacket. "I think there was something wrong with my C rations." He protested impishly as some of the others unaffected by the incident laughed at the misfortune.

"Of course there's something wrong!" Schneider, dark and gaunt little thing as thin as Arc, but head and a half shorter shouted from somewhere near the front. "They're fucking C rations, mate!"

The rest of boat broke out in unrestrained mirth, even those who couldn't hear the incident and simply latched on to the cheerful feeling in order to eschew the malaise brought on by the weather and their grim task ahead.

"Oi! Cut the chatter! You want Tojo to know we're coming?!"

The only one not eager for their landing and the only one seemingly _never_ in good spirits shouted over the raucousness caused by both men and nature, which far drowned out the choked thrumming of the diesel engine putting laboriously amidst the thrashing sea.

"How the hell are the Japs gonna hear us over this mess, anyway, cap'n?"

Captain Archibald McGovern, or the "Arch Nemesis" of every jarhead in the 2/5 was not one to share in jovialities. Especially not when his gut churned with uneasy anticipation that had nothing to do with the rough ride. With another decade and a half experience over every other marine in the small boat, he gazed out at that misty black line on the horizon like it was the very heart of darkness itself.

He might not have been wrong.

He glared with general disdain at the men under his command from his pulpit near the front, which was actually a coil of hemp rope he was using to stand taller than his already impressive six-foot-two demanded. Used to the killjoy persona, the twenty-some-odd eighteen and nineteen-year-olds quickly reigned in their laughter, but did not stop their idle chatter which was both endemic and helped to relieve the tense apprehension.

"Cheer up Arc, maybe the Japs'll share some of their rice wit ya. Back in Georgia we always had 'em grits to settle the tummy." The blond nearly hurled again as the burly Beauregard gave him a hearty slap on the back.

"Y'think those 'special troops' get any special rations?" Schneider poked his sunken face in between the elbows of the men ahead and asked with an almost desperate twinge which reminded his comrades of the kid's constant hunger and bottomless stomach.

"What 'special troops', y'er talking about?" Beauregard sneered at the hungry ghost and pushed him back with one meaty paw on the young man's helmet. "You mean their 'thetic attempt to copy the Corps?!"

"Hooah!" The obligatory cry echoed in the cramped space as the commanding officer gave another frightening glare.

"The Special Naval Landing Forces are nothing to sneer at…" The bespectacled and aptly named Wright shot impishly once the noise had died down (relatively). But no one heard him, nor cared for his informed opinion.

"Na, man. I hear tell they got some crazy kung-fu guys they brought in from China." Arc shivered at the conspiring words hissed over his shoulder by the local prankster everyone in the unit called 'Joker' because they had honestly forgotten his name. His dark face smiled eerily at the captive audience in the gray light of the morning.

"Shut the hell up, Joker. No one believes yer shit."

"It's true!" The joviality which had always painted the man's pock-marked expression disappeared as he became deadly serious. This stirred all within earshot as they listened with rapt attention. "I heard from my cousin who was friends with a guy in the China Marines that the Manchukuo's got some new blood they dragged down from way up north in Siberia or some shit. Real crazy bunch, got this killer look in their eyes- even the tiny ones!"

Beauregard snorted and shook his double-chin in condescension, but before he could regale them with another one of his Southern anecdotes which proved irrefutably that what was being said was a load of crock, Joker pressed on with his yarn which everyone else ate up with rapt attention.

"That's another thing-! I heard 'im say that they ain't just short like y'know most yellows are, they've actually been recruiting kids to fight for them!"

"Bastards!" Wright swore to the shock of his shipmates before he turned away and fingered his rosaries, muttering a prayer under his breath.

"Amen, preacher!" Joker smiled a toothy grin at the reaction he was getting with his so-far best performance. "And that ain't even the most shocking thing. Doug- that's my cousin's friend- Doug said that not only do they got women too! Beautiful things, and each and every one of them c'n do magic!"

A collective groan resounded throughout the cramped hull as every single onlooker turned away in exasperation, chagrinned knowing that they'd been put on for so long.

"Joker, you ass!" The mulato storyteller's mouth hung open, wondering where he'd lost them. "That ain't magic. It's called lust, you letch!"

"No! That's not-"

Before he could protest his newfound innocence, Joker, along with everyone else was thrown forward to the prow of the ship as they all tumbled over one another in a game of human dominoes.

"Ow! What the hell-?"

The groans of annoyance became groans of pain as the fully-loaded marines struggled to lift themselves off one another.

"Captain McGovern!" The Coast Guard tillerman called out from his machine gun post on the front. "I think we've hit a reef! Engines still working but I can't get her free!" The engine choked and wined as it fought pointlessly at the churning waves and the flimsy hull ground and cracked as it listed back and forth on its rocky anchor.

"Figures." Arch McGovern grumbled, but was a good Catholic in that he was happy to receive their punishment early in exchange for safe passage later on. "Alright maggots!" He called out to the sniveling mass of bodies that were acting more like children than the hardened killers they portended to be. "Boat's stuck, but the shore is only 100 yards or so. So suck it up, put it up, and get moving!"

Another groan shook the injured vessel, but the faceless bodies were quick to comply with the order and began leaping over the high walls and into the murky water below with a series of cannonball splashes and further cursing as men slipped and stumbled on the slick submarine surface.

"And for godssake, no more chatter!"

No one had much to say as they slogged their way to the distant shore, gasping for sweet air as an occasional misstep would sink their foot and have the rough waves up and over their heads. Somewhere out in that dark morning there were another several thousand Marines doing much the same as they were. Hopefully they had a smoother landing, though.

The beach was a fleeting afterthought as they waded onto the shore and threw themselves into the cover of the dense jungle. It was every bit as wet and dark as the water they had come from, and as they pressed further into the twilight depths they felt the interwoven branches closing in on them with each step they took further into hell.

It might as well have been that mythological place for the 28 men who, by in large, hadn't left the confines of their home towns before joining the illustrious Corps. They hadn't ever seen anything like it in their young lives, and if it weren't for the threat of enemy guns poking out of every shadow it might have been awe inspiring.

As it was, it was miserable.

"Son of a-" One PFC Salinas swore as his heavy boot squished down once again into an empty patch of forest floor and sunk ankle-deep into the mud.

He tried yanking his foot out to no avail. Then he tried levering himself out with the butt of his M1 Garand braced against the base of a nearby tree. Lady luck would not have pity on him as the line of troops behind him stopped their careful march across the treacherous terrain to poke fun at his misery.

"What the fuck is this?" The titters were trimmed at the base as Captain McGovern came scrambling to the fore. "Well? Don't just stand there! Get this man unstuck and get moving!" The soldiers standing idly by snapped to obey his hissed command without further question.

It happened to Salinas again. And then to PFC Wintergreen. By the time five men had dislodged Beauregard's girth, no one was laughing. They were all sweating, mosquito bitten, scratched, bruised and still sopping wet.

"Captain." Sargent Flanders whispered cautiously to the volatile man, his own sunken eyes scanning the shaded bramble encroaching them from every side.

"What is it?"

"I think the men need a break. We've been at this nearly six hours now."

The gruff officer took this advisement with a guttural huff, clearly illustrating his displeasure with the poor progress they had made thus far. He might have pointed out that they hadn't even made it halfway to their objective that was supposed to be secured two hours ago. But he was a stern man, not cruel, and he could feel his own weariness nibbling at his honed senses. If they were to come upon a determined defense as they were, they would be totally incapable of mounting an adequate attack.

"Ten minutes." He glanced back to a few scraggly faces looking at their private conversation with trepidation. "And make sure they get something to eat."

Sgt. Flanders was as happy as a clam to hear his request granted- that is, a tight-lipped nod which looked like he was trying to pass sand through his gut.

"There's a clearing up ahead. We'll push on to there and work out guard duty."

With surprising vigor, the man darted off into the bush like a gazelle to inform the bedraggled men.

"Hmph." The seasoned soldier harrumphed, though not out of any particular displeasure with his men, but rather that unshakable sense of foreboding that had been dogging him since they had disembarked from the _USS San Juan._ The clenching around his heart only seemed to get stronger by the minute.

"Ca-captain!"

The man quickly forgot his inner torment and whipped around to face his distressed Sargent who had somehow managed to get up to the head of the column next to Private First Class Polakowzki who was serving as point man for that stretch.

Instantly, all around the officer and all up and down the line, Marines twitched their weapons into firing positions, scanning the impassible screen of foliage for signs of an ambush.

"What the hell is it, Sgt.?!" Trying to keep his yell as focused as possible all the while loping over the knotted roots with his finger on the trigger of his Thompson submachine gun. "Is it the enemy?"

"No sir, it's-it's"

"It's just a fucking kid!" Polakowzki finished for him, flabbergasted as all the others within sight of the clearing.

The career soldier had to look twice as he came huffing up to his subordinate's position, and had he not seen it with his own two eyes that were military certified 20/20, he might not have believed it. In fact, he was still tempted to doubt his sanity and began to wonder if senility was common in 35-year-olds.

"What in the devil…?"

Rational thought dictated that it must be the child of one of the local inhabitants. But the shock yellow hair and lightly tanned face betrayed this notion as surely as did the serene expression haloed in the crocheted light shining the dense canopy. He was also not garbed like a pacific islander, in the fact that he was garbed at all. The khaki suit with accompanying web equipment lent a stern edge to that otherwise tranquil air he had surrounded himself with in that clearing.

"Polakowzki." The swarthy man broke from his transfixed stare and looked back at his commanding officer. "Get that kid out of here, now."

"Uh-uh yessir." He blinked twice and slung his rifle along his back, not wanting to scare the young man who had the misfortune to be resting in that inconvenient location.

"Hey, kid." Polakowzki tried tentatively, not even sure if the child could understand him. "Kid!" He tried again, added urgency elevating his voice a little as he took another few steps closer to the seated child.

But still the boy had yet to move, or even give any indication he noticed the soldier's approach. Captain McGovern watched from the edge of the clearing as the blond kid sat there like a statue, brilliantly painted to appear lifelike. All the while, that whisper of foreshadow tickled his ear and sent his heart thumping in his throat. Unconsciously his Thompson scooted up to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

Polakowzki inched forward, as if the child were boobytrapped, craning his neck to see if he could tell if the boy was breathing.

"Do you think he can even hear me?" He turned back to his concealed unit, shadowed faces watching owlishly from hollows between the mossy trees.

"Oh- for God's sake!" Captain McGovern stormed from his position, snapping branches and causing his own men to flinch reflexively. "Will you just-!"

And almost as soon as he exploded into motion, the whole clearing and everything beyond seemed to freeze. Even the exotic squawks of the birds and the buzz of insects seemed to still, cowed by those frozen blue eyes which were staring straight past the Private and directly into his own.

With that dichotomy of innocence and severity, he might have wondered why he never noticed the tribal-like tattoos on the boy's cheeks- like a tiger's stripes or whiskers. Equally, he might have taken note of the military-like plate tied across his brow, the color of Lebanese olives and emblazoned with the very symbol of their enemy: a chrysanthemum.

But both of these facts along with many other prudent observations fell by the wayside as he was locked in his myopic focus with those cold slabs of azurite bearing down on him with all their mountainous weight.

"Sorujas ofu da Unitedu Statesu…" His voice was high pitched enough that it was obvious he had not yet gone through puberty. But the moment the heavily-accented words passed through his lips, hackles were raised on the backs of every single soldier within earshot.

The boy frowned and scrunched his brow together in concentration as he mulled the foreign sentence over in his mouth. His halcyon aura lost and the commanding tone he had attempted appeared to peter out. He coughed and the soldier in front of him jumped slightly. Though he took little notice. His focus too, was solely on the Captain. And that made the man far more nervous than he could possibly justify.

"Kid, you need to get out-"

"So-ru-diers of the United Statesu!" He began again, this time far more clearly and with a reinvigorated sense of dominance that once again caused everyone to tense. "I havu been auturized to arrow you one chancu to surrenda in the namu of the Emperor!"

When told back home, or at the barracks over a couple of lukewarm beers and the promise of a weekend pass, the men of 2/5 would laugh about the way this prepubescent brat stood up to their Captain and even their entire patrol with a straight face and armed with nothing more than a long knife, ordering them to lay down their weapons for him.

If, they ever made it back, that is.

In that moment however, no one knew quite what to do with the simplistic and nigh-unintelligible ultimatum. Even after they realized that the youth had been indoctrinated into the service of the Imperial Japanese Army, there was a question as to what to do with that information. Could they just kill the kid, like they would any other soldier? Somehow giving him a spanking and sending him back home in tears just didn't seem like it was going to cut it this time.

"Captain?" Polakowzki asked hesitantly as he took his eyes off the strange child.

"You tell that kid," The man wetted his parched lips-despite the sweltering humidity surrounding them he suddenly felt dry- and instructed his subordinate while never breaking the staring contest he was desperately locked in. "That the USMC never backs down from a fight."

Even while the Private looked at his officer like the man had gone mad, the child appeared to have gotten the gist of the information, somehow reading his lips and comprehending despite not knowing the language very well.

Or maybe it was the expression he knew was permanently etched on his face, which was reciprocated in his youthful counterpart. That kind of language was universal on a battlefield.

"So-ka." He whispered, nodding his head shallowly.

Captain McGovern felt each heartbeat after that.

The first had the kid on his feet, one arm extended and fingers splayed as if releasing a bird from his magician's cuff.

The second saw Polakowzki stumble and then drop to a knee as the blond kid had yet to remove his steely sight from the rest of the platoon.

By the third, Cpt. Right already had his weapon to his shoulder, even as Polakowzki flopped backwards with a spray of blood erupting from a pointed star in his neck.

By the fourth it was all over.

The jungle erupted in a cacophony of gunfire. A storm, much more savage than the one they rode in on, blazed through the lush foliage, tearing vines from branches and sending slivers of wood exploding in every direction. Back in the clearing, the last man standing unloaded his 20-round magazine into the child-assassin, sense and sight both lost behind the blinding crack of the muzzle-flash and the thumping of the bolt running back and forth, keeping pace with his racing heart.

The Captain's finger squeezed incessantly on the trigger, long after the last round had been spent. His heavy breath tasted only sulfur, and none of the damp humus and salt-water that had clogged it for the past several hours. After a few seconds, ammo ran dry and sense filled the empty space.

"Cease-fire! Cease-fire!" He barked out, once he realized his own foolishness.

"God damn it…"

His Catholic mother would probably send him to the nuns with how many times he had used the lord's name in vain, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when looking upon the corpse of one of his men, bug eyes staring back up at him in total shock, as if still wondering what was going on.

But there weren't enough swear words in his vocabulary when he scanned the small clearing for a second body, and came up with only a perforated log.

"Reload! Spread out, defensive positions!" He summoned up the strength of his training, forcing his shaking hands to change out magazines and his feet to carry him to better cover.

"What the hell is going on, sir?!" His Sargent asked as he threw himself into the crook of some roots next to the man.

"What the hell does it look like? We've been attacked! So get your goddam weapon up and act like a soldier, damnit!" He chastised even as he removed his helmet to run a trembling hand through his hair.

"But the kid-"

"I don't know what the hell that was." He growled. "But it sure as hell wasn't no fucking kid."

"Gomez!"

The shout came from far off behind them, well off into the parts of the dense jungle which where shielded by a curtain of plant life. It was followed soon after by an enraged yell and renewed gunfire. Eight shots and they heard the telltale ping as the person firing the Garand used up all his ammo. But the war-cry continued until it was abruptly silenced, and the jungle was submerged into an ethereal silence once more.

The silence was deafening. But even as it was broken, they wished the could have it back.

"Jesus…"

More cries and more gunfire scattered all around them. A few stray shots whizzed over their position and buried themselves into the thick trunk next to which they sought shelter.

"Where the hell are they?!" Flanders yelled as he pivoted along the trunk and stared off into the darkness. "There must be a fucking platoon of them. How come we didn't see them?" He fired off a few random shots from his M1 Carbine which were swallowed up by the unflinching jungle.

"The kid must've distracted us from their approach." McGovern said halfheartedly as he glanced around the opposite side of the tree. Though in his heart, he knew he didn't believe it.

"Shit. We're screwed if we stay here. I can't see any of the other men. One of us has to make it back to the beech and signal the ships so that they can level this rock. Flanders, you're the faster runner. Do you think you can make it back if I cover you? Flanders?"

But while he was busy planning, the terrain as dark as night fell to a hush once again, and he realized it had been a while since he had heard anything from his second in command. He whipped around the tree with his gun at his hip, ready to blast whatever he found on the other side.

"Damnit!"

Sargent Flanders lay sprawled out on the massive root he was using for cover, blood quickly running down the gentle slope and dribbling to the ground.

Cpt. McGovern was normally a man to trust his instinct. That he hadn't thus far was only because of the heavy drilling laid into him by the Marines, who forced him to ignore that fight-or-flight in order to succeed in combat. Though he paid heed to it now, as instinct told him that something was coming up from behind.

He spun on his heel, throwing himself against the corpse of his comrade and unleashing a spray of bullets at what was his backside.

The blond kid darted to the side, just in front of the muzzle's sweep. He hid himself behind an equally thick tree which absorbed the bullets like putty. The man held his fire, expecting the wily assassin to come at him again from the other side of the trunk.

He was right, but the position in which the child appeared was far too high for him to have climbed it by hand, and so McGovern was caught off guard as he released a single knife like a dart which lodged perfectly into his firing hand.

He cried out in rage more than pain, dropping the weapon and reaching instinctually for his sidearm. But with his left hand he was clumsy, and that minute delay was all it took for the child soldier to get up next to him and lodge another one of his crude knives into his uninjured hand. Then a surprisingly strong foot knocked him in his burly chest, pinning him against his fallen soldier, and his opponent reached back to draw out his long knife.

He looked the kid in his dead, blue eyes and uttered the first word that came to mind.

"Monster…"

"Hai."

He never even felt the blade as it severed his neck.

…

Naruto wiped his blade off with a special type of paper given to him by one of his new squad mates specifically for that purpose. He let it fall from his palm and onto the lap of the man he had just slain as the severed head glared back up at him accusingly.

He sighed heavily and slowly replaced the wakizashi into its sheath on the back of his belt.

He only knew select phrases in English and had a passing comprehension of Mandarin. He had memorized the declaration beforehand, and sweated hours practicing it, making sure he delivered it correctly. Even now- especially now, he continued to doubt whether he had not caused this bloody outcome.

Though his knowledge of foreign language was abysmal compared to the others in his group, he did know the last word that had been on the Captain's lips. In fact, he knew that word in five languages and seven dialects now.

Monster.

Bakemono.

He knew he deserved the title. It had boosted him up through the ranks and garnered him all kinds of accolades within the Imperial Army. But still… it wasn't the respect he wanted.

He craned his neck up to the canopy far above just as the sun descended past the impenetrable branches and swallowed the jungle in inky blackness. It may have only been a few hours into the afternoon, but it might as well have been midnight on the forest floor among the massive and ancient roots, and freshly spilled blood. It would not go to waste, though. They would not go to waste, and soon the humid climate would add their flesh to its fecund soil, life sprouting anew.

He consoled himself with this. For now.

He wrapped the darkness around him like a blanket, and disappeared into the land of the setting sun.

* * *

 **Alright, let's get this bitch of an author's note out of the way!**

 **What to say though? For those of you (all like, 12) that have read my previous attempt at a Naruto x RL crossover, know that this will share a lot of the same dark elements and political machinations (gee, I wonder why?). But that being said, I hope to focus more on the shinobi characters with this attempt even though I am also going to be jumping through all number of hoops to make this as historically accurate as possible.**

 **What does that mean? Well, this IS an AU, so things are probably going to diverge rather rapidly, but for those of you who care to check up on facts, you'll notice that this chapter follows the basic history of WWII fairly closely. Again, another caveat, is that while I am a total history buff and general nerd, I have a terrible time remembering names and dates, choosing to focus more on the general concepts and motivations of the conflict. I will get names wrong, either by mistake or on purpose for the sake of the story. I am a geardo, I like and know military equipment and their limitations, so while this makes me more qualified than some to compare historical armies to hypothetical battles, it makes me pretty myopic and ignorant of things I probably SHOULD really know…**

 **And in that vein, some people are no doubt going to give me all sorts of crap (being that they read this far, that is) about how Ninjas are so much stronger/weaker than your average GI. All I have to say to that is: if you don't agree, don't read. Or rather, if you prefer, PM me with something more than an honest opinion and more facts.**

 **So for example, in this scene Naruto decimates (more like exterminates) a platoon of USMC's finest without a scratch, and he's not supposed to be OP? Yes. If you have ever been in the jungles of SE Asia, you'll know it's almost impossible to see like 4 feet in front of your face. Close quarters scenarios like that make guns practically useless, especially the long rifles typical of WWII armies. That, and the age old excuse that the ELEMENT OF SURPISE trumps just about everything. He's not going to have that easy a time with the next 4+ years of RL canon.**

 **But shinobi are like so much faster than guns, of course they would totally be able to dodge bullets and be like shwaaa, weee, jutsu-magic! Yeah… no. I love the premise of Naruto, the characterization and the intertwining of Japanese lore. However, things just get STUPID later on in Shippuden. If we are being objective, when the series starts out it is pretty clear that only very ELITE ninjas have a chance at dodging bullets at CLOSE range. Nothing to say for a long-range potshot which the only way they'd be able to dodge is to know they're being watched (which, I admit is a possibility). Bullets be fast.**

 **But of course, balance this out with the fact that armament in WWII was mostly bolt-action and semi-automatic rifles with a handful of troops being issued what would later be termed 'squad automatics' and SMG's. Yeah, it's going to take a lot of bullets to take out a single ninja with those kinds of tactics. But of course, consider that there are about 1000x more troops in every country compared to the ENTIRE elemental nations, and you have a pretty fair game in my opinion.**

 **Of course, one other thing to consider is the fact that the Nuclear bomb hasn't been developed…yet. Conventional bombing can STILL raze a city like Konoha to the ground, though. And apart from a few specialty ninja, as we've seen, they really don't have too much in the way of AA capabilities. Though I admit, the Japanese army of this time period was very poorly mechanized, they did have a formidable air presence. This is the number one deciding factor in this timeline, and if one knows anything about history, this was true in real life as well, as aircraft carriers superseded larger battleships like the Yamato class and made them all but obsolete.**

 **Anyway, a LOT more to say about this, but I'm not even sure that it's wroth it at this point, considering this story may or may not get developed depending on how much attention it gets (yes, even bad attention counts, so if you don't have anything nice to say, best not say anything at all).**

 **I still urge you to vote, and be on the lookout for more oneshot probes like this in the coming weeks.**

 **And one final note: Also for those of you who know my other works, no, sorry, this isn't a massive crossover. The scene just kinda worked out that way, and I couldn't help but sneak Jaune in there. Besides, I don't think he made it out of the jungle alive. OR did he? Review!**


	2. Paper Dreams

**Okay, so with** **the Butterfly' Dream** **getting most of my attention, I know I've let this fic languish. Although, perhaps this is a good thing, because I have decided to redo this and my other one** **Life Story Override** **, because frankly I probably was running myself thin trying to do all three, and the quality suffered too much. So there will be a massive overhaul in the future (starting here, though can't much call this massive since there are only two chapters).**

 **Anyway, just for people to know, this is version TWO of the chapter, hopefully there won't be a need for a version three.**

* * *

 _Febuary 18 1936_

 _Kwantung HQ in Hsinking, Manchukuo_

"I'm telling you, these people are too dangerous to keep alive."

"They **are** dangerous, which is precisely why we should continue efforts to sway them to our cause. The Manchukuo army is full of nothing but deserters and opium addicts. We can't rely on them to be an effective policing force for our new territory and to have our backs when we need it."

"I see your point, but if we give these people any sort of reparations they'll only demand more. A seat at the table is only the start, and soon they will be taking over our forces from the inside out."

"Perhaps. However, the chief problem with all your arguments is that you all keep referring to them as a single cohesive nation, simply because they all speak the same language we do. They do not see it that way. Much as they do not see us as their brethren, they fail to see one another as potential allies. You forget, that it was not long ago our great nation was in a similar state of disarray, and it was only through great external force that we came to look inwards and rally around our true leader."

The bickering heads of command all went silent as they listened with reverence to the elderly man at the end of the table, not only because their social expectations demanded it, but because each and every one of them knew him to be a man of wisdom.

They followed him out of respect. The obeyed him out of fear.

"Honjō-sama, what do you propose we should do?" Lieutenant General Jirō Tamon asked directly, knowing his own feelings had already been made clear to all present.

The venerated Honjō Shigeru, head of the Kwantung Army which represented Japan's imperial interests in China, shut his eyes in mute retrospection.

They had already committed themselves to a long fight. Invading China was not a hastily made decision and had been in the works for hundreds of years. A power struggle going back to the first Kamikaze which defeated the Mongol threat in the Sea of Japan.

Still, no one could have ever expected this turn of events.

A mistake had been made. But where?

These warmongering people which called themselves 'Shinobi' might have spoken Japanese, but they were from a world totally different than their own. Words were the same, but ideas were different.

They did not take kindly to the foreign interlopers, and it was only a matter of time before the probing forces of the Imperial Japanese Army and the forces of Demon and Sky Countries came to blows. No amount of political decorum could smooth over what was a fundamental rift.

Perhaps it was that similarity which cause the mistrust. People so alike, yet so different. It was a thought as insidious as a plague.

It was too late for a vaccine. The only cure was eradication.

"However unwittingly, we find ourselves in the same position as that bastard American, Perry." Honj let his thoughts wander aloud while he stroked his graying beard. "Can you imagine what our forefathers must have thought when his black ships sailed into Edo Harbor with their cannons blazing? Was this not the fear of god which drove us to come together and unite our nation against the true enemy? **We** are now that unifying force to the uncultured heathens. If we put demands on them, we risk giving them that common enemy.

"Gentlemen, our island nation is small compared to vast and historic empires of England, France, Germany, and now the United States. Our will is strong, but without the resources to fight, what hope do we have for the future? Mark my words, war will spread, and it will only be a matter of time before those patronizing countries seek to reign in our expansion. I have little doubt that they can do it, too.

"Thus, we need an edge. If we can sway them to our cause, get them to see the world such as it is… perhaps they will understand the plight against us all, and perhaps they will fight with us. As it stands, I have little doubt we could spend the entire war trying to sway them to our side, and that is not something we can afford."

These almost-blasphemous words were absorbed by the room with a solemn indemnity that they would never see the light of day. It was traitorous to doubt the divine mandate delivered to their race to conquer their due fiefdom. But being halted so early in their crusade, no one could refute the wise words.

"So… what should we do?"

They were no closer to answering this question, either practically or spiritually. Their forces were stopped cold on the Eastern Edge of the Great Lake by ninja who declared themselves to be of the Hidden Mist. A deadlock staring at the salty waves which washed back and forth, separating them from that virgin land.

It was possible to simply ignore this part of the mainland, skirt around it and capture the objectives which would give them the oil, iron, and petroleum that they desperately needed.

But what if it should come back to bite them? What if, once learning of the rest of the world outside their small enclave, the Shinobi Nations should seek their own empires to challenge their own? That cat was already out of the bag, now, and it had turned out to be a fierce tiger seeking to rend them asunder.

There was little doubt they had the strength to do it, too. When first mocked for going into battle with knives and children at the forefront, the leaders of the Imperial Army soon found out that there was nothing lesser about these barbarians. Their tactics, like their outlooks, were different. And their weapons were something to behold.

"We must do something." They all nodded like they understood their commander's words, but inside was the hollow knowledge that many would likely die in this venture. "We must do something and commit to it fully. It is tragic, but words have failed us. The strike that is necessary must be fast, and complete. General Isogai,"

"Hai."

The man addressed held the position of being the youngest, and also the most vigorously adamant about eliminating the threat. He sat up straight in his seat at attention.

"In three weeks from today the shipment of the new bombers will arrive. Your artillery will provide cover for their sortie to the opposite side of the lake. Your target will be what the local maps call 'Fire Country'. Intelligence indicates that they recently suffered a major catastrophe, and will be more likely to submit when put under a little pressure."

"But sir," The man who spoke must have been nervous to interrupt the supreme commander, either at the untested technology or the thought of awakening yet another dragon. "Wouldn't our bombers be of better effect against the Mist Shinobi blocking our path? We don't have the naval forces to transport our troops across the lake without island-hopping through their territory."

While silent, the room was abuzz with fearful and scathing glances at the lowly general who dared undermine their superior.

To their shock, the old man simply nodded.

"Yes they would, if they were dropping only bombs." The table was silent while they contemplated this mysterious thought, and everyone could hear as the lead general took out a sheet of paper and began writing on it, his pen-strokes like lashes against the deathly pall. "After the first wave, we will drop these." And slid the note down to his right.

The silence continued to be deafening as the letter was passed around the table, slowly but surely. After each hand touched it, faces twisted in tormented concentration, trying to grasp the entirety of what the shrewd old man had planned.

"When they attacked us with their magic, we were surprised. When we attacked with our cannons and our guns, they were surprised. It was for that brief moment that we held the advantage, and so it must be again, but this time we must do it totally and completely.

"The bombs we drop will be a sample of what the world can do to them. A sample of what we can do to them, should they resist. That note which will be copied into leaflets and dropped by the bushel from the aircraft," He pointed to where the scrawled sheet was just rounding the opposite end of the table from him. "Will tell them to join forces with us and exterminate the Mist Shinobi in our path. We will use their fear and weakness, but also their hatred of one another to our advantage.

"They need not know that our Air Force is years from its full capabilities. We only need one, good run, and we will have them begging at our feet."

"Will this really work?"

No one admonished the doubter this time, as all had been thrust deep into this dark and unknown territory, with little idea where to go. No one could see rank and privilege in this brave new world.

"It had better." Honjō laid his glasses on the table and massaged his temples. "Our future hangs on this, so it had better."

* * *

"Begin Phase Two."

* * *

 _August 7_ _th_ _1942_

 _USS San Juan 2240 Hours_

"Get those casualties aboard!"

"Careful now! Do you know what these guys had to go through? Can't have them dying on the home stretch!"

Even in the middle of the night, the deck aboard the flagship of the United States Navy _Watchtower_ expeditionary force to the Guadalcanal Islands was busy as Grand Central station. The hustle and bustle of men and equipment being shuffled back and forth over floors slick with heavy fog which had rolled in almost unnaturally quick after the storm had passed.

This level of activity was not untypical for a combat deployment, but it managed to pique the interest of busybodies who could only wonder what was going on far off at shore. For those who weren't keyed in to the situation, it was a clear symptom of something not quite going right with their smoothly planned operation.

"Get this one's name and unit." The corpsman stepped over stretchers packed like cigarettes on the cold deck to snatch the soldier's dog tags. The jangling metal strips he handed over to the Major in charge of the overflow of casualties currently spilling out onto the ship's decks.

"Hey, what's going on out there, anyway?" The tactless young medic leaned over to ask one casualty as the man continued to stare straight ahead, past the Major busily scribbling notes on a crowded clipboard. The Major raised an eyebrow in admonishment of the unprofessional attitude.

"The hells the matter with you? This man clearly has shellshock." He set the clipboard down carefully amidst the human cargo and drew out his GI issue angle-head flashlight with homemade peephole aperture, shining the pinpoint ray back and forth across the man's unresponsive and dilated eyes. "Shit, probably has a concussion, too. Read to me what I wrote down for his unit."

After a moment's hesitation, the neophyte healer carefully picked up the Major's paperwork and shined his own light on the chicken scratch, squinting in the red-tinted light to make out what the former civilian doctor had written.

"Uh, looks like 2nd Division, 5th Marines. Private First Class John Arc. Says here E company."

The Major issued a single wry laugh- the only one he could muster for the pathetic bit of humor. It was grim, and surely the Arc family wouldn't be laughing when their valiant John came back home a broken shell of a man- hardly, a boy still.

But at least he was going back.

"He's the last? Any more from his company?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"Jesus."

It took a lot to shake such a schooled medical professional. He didn't let it do so now, and issued a small prayer for the 27 other souls whose bodies were lying somewhere in that impenetrable darkness, trees like black ivory walls hiding the horrors which still kept John Arc's sanity in their clutches.

"C'mon, let's get you someplace dry."

He probably should have prayed for one more.

* * *

 _August 8_ _th_ _1942_

 _USS San Juan Medical Ward 0010 Hours_

The night watch made their rounds, tiptoeing around the multitude of bodies stacked in every nook and cranny of the inadequate facility, stopping every now and then to shine a flashlight on a patient, glance at the white tag tied to their wrist (or toe, in the absence of said appendage). Every now and then a small curse would be muttered and heard by those in too much pain to sleep. Then the orderlies would gather together to carry another fatality out of the way of the living.

The medical staff worked around the clock, but even they needed rest and could only check up on the patients declared stable every few minutes at a time.

12 minutes, to be exact. 'John' had counted.

He knew there were four orderlies working at any one time checking up on their room and one had glanced his way after he tied some soiled bandages around his head to appear more injured than he actually was. He was also careful to appear contentedly asleep. Though he only had to change his appearance a little, the illusion wouldn't hold up if they were to physically inspect him.

The last flashlight was swallowed up by the steel bulkhead and he was once again swathed in comforting darkness.

Now. Move.

He shed the blanket he had stolen off his huddled frame, laying it on a feverish patient who was tossing and turning on the cot his was given, continuing to grasp at the empty space where his arm should have been. He gently tucked the blanket in around the man, waiting half a beat until he settled.

He didn't know why he did it. They would all soon be dead, anyway.

* * *

 _USS San Juan Hallways 0017 Hours_

"I'm telling you- their unit was completely decimated!"

"But there's one guy left, right? Maybe he can tell me! Please, I need to know!"

"From what I hear he's got shellshock, totally dumb right now. He needs rest away from all this."

"And I need to know if my brother's dead or alive! If there's even the slightest chance that the Japs didn't get him then I need to be in the next wave, so I can go look for him!"

"This is madness. Fuck-this is totally insane! Hey- you can't go in there!"

But the harsh whispers of the orderly meant next to nothing in the face of the desperate family member as he shoved the wispy man aside and forced his way into the darkened space.

He was at first taken aback by the putrid smell, completely disorienting in the abject darkness and making him stumble over the watertight threshold. His arm shot out to steady himself and came down heavy on the edge of a gurney. There was a cringing squeal as his bulk shifted the mobile bed jarringly.

"Fuck!"

"Ah, shit. Now you've gone and done it!"

Once recovering from being slammed into a wall, the orderly followed him in, hot on his heels as he squeezed through the tiny doorway. Nearly running into the marine's massive back, he stopped and squinted in the dark room to see if the lumbering brute managed to exacerbate any of the patient's injuries.

At first he thought that he had stepped into the wrong room. Something was just so… off.

It was totally quiet. Not even a groan from the jostled bed.

Even when everyone had been asleep last time he checked in, there had been the steady sound of breathing all around in off-tempo drones which made it often hard to tell which of them had passed on in the night. That, and there was always at **least** one who snored like an ox.

In the absence of those familiar sounds, the silence was deafening. Each of their two breaths were the crackling of new ice, their heartbeats the thrum of the engines coming through the deck.

"Hey?! Is there someone there?" The big man suddenly lost his brazenness as he caught a shadow shifting in the darkness.

"Hang on, I'll get the lights."

"Hurry up, would you? I want to find this guy and let the injured get back to resting."

"I'm going, I'm going." There was the sound of blind tapping on the bulkhead, and then suddenly a sound that the civilian-soldier recognized from his days in his father's furniture factory.

Metal on metal, with flesh in between.

"Fuck!"

But at least the lights were on, and they could see now.

If only they couldn't, they might have rested soundly.

"What the-"

"It's too soon."

Another sound from his youth, the sound of a ripsaw cutting through air as the blade broke and went wildly sailing across the room.

Then nothing.

* * *

Naruto stood amongst the carnage he had wrought, staring at his latest victims past his extended fingers which had just loosed the fuma shuriken. The weapon still imbedded into the bulkhead and looming over the bisected men. He sighed wearily before straightening and glancing around at the rest of his objective.

If he was remorseful for slaughtering the wounded in their beds, he didn't show it. He did as his mentor and teammates advised him, reminded that they had all received quick and painless deaths.

Much as John Arc had.

He was lucky they had bought his ruse. Although he was admittedly a good actor, the moment he talked would have given up the ghost as his English was atrocious. Why did his teammates assign him this mission again?

Oh yeah.

"Tajῡ, Kage-Bushin"

" _You can't hide in the shadows forever kid. You're not nearly as good at it as I am."_

"I'm not hiding anymore."

The clones spread across the ship like a plague.

* * *

 _June 21_ _st_ _1936_

 _Hi no Kuni, Konohagakure no Sato 1800 Hours_

He remembered that day. The cries erupting from the ship transported him back to his home, the steel bulkhead bleeding into the ironwood trees which surrounded his existence from the day he was born.

Fear and hatred were normal. They had been, even back then. His own people feared him, shunned him, treated him like a dog with mange and aimed to starve him just the same. Never so much as deigning to touch him for fear that the disease he carried would spread to them and their children. He was a leper whose only affliction were three parallel marks on each cheek, but inside his heart was rotting.

Starved. For food, and for human attention. No one ever beat him or harmed him, in fact, no one ever laid a hand on him. That was perhaps the worse thing they could have ever done to an orphan like him whose one desire more than any other in the world was to not be alone.

When he killed, he would make sure to kill them all, so that they too could always be together.

But that wasn't who he was. Not back then, anyway. Before, he had been as normal as could be allowed. Death was not in his thoughts, not even when he dreamed of becoming a powerful ninja. And he still held hope that one day people would come to respect him, understand him by his words and his actions.

When words failed, when action defied comprehension, that was when he had lost hope.

He remembered that day. The sound at the edge of his ears like locusts, a low, buzzing, thrumming noise like thousands of wings taking to the air which had turned black with an oncoming storm.

There was another buzz, as the colony of people spoke in hushed whispers as they turned their heads to the sky. A girl crying. Someone dropping a basket. And all the while, the noise became louder and louder, until it seemed to dwarf even the thoughts inside his head.

And then came the explosions.

Low, guttural tones which struck at his very core. Shook the Earth. Rained debris down onto the streets, and lit up the dark afternoon like fireworks.

Then came the pamphlets, like snow or ash from an out-of-control fire. They were disgorged from the bellies of the locusts which swept over their village in menacing V formations, engines screaming above the racket of organized panic. Cries from civilians who had no idea what was going on, shinobi giving and receiving orders who had no answers for them.

There were also the cries of the dead and dying, which seemed to top them all.

Walking past what was once a shop that sold premium green tea, he paid only a cursory glance at the hole in the ground surrounded by bricks the same color that the walls once were. Bending down, he picked up one of the neat little pieces of paper, squinting, trying to read the faded and fuzzy katakana which spouted a bunch of terms he did not yet know.

It wouldn't be long before those same words would be inscribed in his heart, tattooed into his daily existence. The chrysanthemum at the bottom a symbol he would come to loathe, and be grateful towards.

For that five-pointed flower would take away his dream, but also ensure that he would never be alone again, that he would have everything he ever wanted.

He was still finding out at just what a cost.

* * *

 _August 8_ _th_ _1942_

 _Tulagi Island 0113 Hours_

The waves gently lapped upon the pristine beach, the boot prints from the previous morning washed away with the tide. The jungle behind had its peace restored, and the sounds of nighttime creatures had once again returned to the island.

This halcyon setting was in contrast to the blazing inferno on the horizon.

Something burst from the surf, gasping for air. And once it took a few, deep, oxygen starved breaths, it trudged along the sandy bottom before throwing itself onto the shore.

Naruto lay there, soaked through to the bone and panting because of the difficult escape he had just made. He had spent more time swimming underwater now than he had in his entire life, and had still just narrowly missed being spotted by other ships coming to aid the _San Juan._

He opened his eyes, expecting to see the familiar night sky staring gently down upon him in reassurance that he was still alive unlike all those poor souls he knowingly condemned to burn.

Instead, he was met with the ugly mug on his senior teammate staring soberly down on him, the only reprieve being the bandages wrapped around his lower face which hid the sneer of condemnation.

"Do you think you've earned a rest? Get up, brat." Zabuza growled as Naruto silently struggled to comply, knowing that any word of protest would earn him even more reprimand than what he already had coming.

The blond was only half-surprised to feel two slender arms try and lift him gently to his feet. He was not at all surprised when they were rudely slapped away.

"Don't help him out, Haku. Let the gaki prove that he isn't _totally_ worthless."

Naruto ground his teeth, but refused to let further pain show on his already battered face. He shakily stood on his own, tabi-boots sinking deep into the wet send. A swift kick to the back of the knee forced him back on all fours again.

"You were supposed to capture the ship, not blow it up."

"I was compromised." Naruto didn't know why he bothered protesting, it would only make things worse.

" _You made_ yourself compromised." He expected the former Mist-ninja to kick him again while he was down, and clenched his teeth so that the he wouldn't have to go through the pain of re-growing any more teeth.

But it never came, and instead he was again told to get to his feet, which he did slower this time in anticipation of meeting the ground so soon afterwards. Instead, when he got to his feet, he was greeted only with Zabuza dispassionately walking away into the dense foliage.

"Can you walk?" The incongruously beautiful boy asked without the slightest inflection of concern.

"Yeah," Naruto acknowledged, thumping his chest to clear it of the brackish water. "Though I'd be a hell of a lot better if you or the bastard decided to teach me how to breath underwater."

The Hyōton user gave him a weak smile as he offhandedly reached over to brush down the blond's sand-caked uniform.

"You should know by now, Naruto-kun. You still don't have good enough Chakra control to learn any elemental techniques that aren't your nature."

In turn, Naruto growled and rudely stomped away from the familiar ministrations. Haku merely continued to smile amusedly at the petulance shown by his younger teammate.

But inside he was concerned. He knew that Zabuza had been asking a lot of the young recruit when he assigned him his task. Not only in the scope of the mission, but in the emotional demand of it as well.

"Do you think…" Haku looked back up at the blond who was standing at the edge of the jungle, hands clenching the sopping wrinkles of his trousers. "… do you think that Taicho will have me transferred because I failed my mission?"

The beautiful boy frowned and floated over the soft ground to place a hand on his friend's sagging shoulder. "Zabuza-sama may be hard on you, but that's only because he's so hard on everyone, including himself. He still blames himself for failing to stand up back then, and feels that he has to regain honor in the eyes of our new leaders."

"Yeah." Naruto relented with a sigh, having heard the explanation before but still not understanding it on an emotional level. "I s'pose."

Haku then smiled and the gentle expression was illuminated by the silver light.

"Besides, where would they transfer you to? You can't be demoted much farther than this."

Naruto laughed heartily which caused him to gag on a wad of seaweed crawling up his throat. He spit it out and continued to chuckle.

"Guess you're right. No sense getting upset over it. Crying in the gutter is a great way to drown."

"I think you've done enough drowning for one night. Come on, let's get you to a fire and see if we can't fill that bottomless pit of a stomach you have."

"Sounds good."

* * *

 **Okay, so I was hoping to avoid having to fill in background history, and the fact that I need to is more a reflection on my writing rather than ignorance on the part of my readers (although it STILL irks me that most of you probably don't know these things already). Point is, my work should be able to stand on its own, and I am sorry that it doesn't.**

 **Aside from the Kwangtung army which I tried to explain in the first part, here are the historical facts worth mentioning:**

 **The Manchukuo army were Chinese who were collaborating with the Japanese takeover of Manchuria, and were essentially a puppet government.**

 **The comment on 'that bastard American Perry' is reference to Comodore Perry who famously sailed into Tokyo harbor in his 'Black Fleet' in 1853, thereby forcing Japan to open itself to the Western world and precipitated the Tokugawa Restoration.**

 **And if you doubt me on any of these things, look them up. They are all common public knowledge. Hopefully, I will not have you looking any more things up during the course of this story, because it will continue to diverge from the historical process of WWII from here on out.**

 **But at the moment, I have tried my best to sync things up with both real historical events and correct geography and science, as well as the Naruto lore and geography. If someone does find inaccuracies with my work, please let me know, because even if I am aware of them, it might help me figure out how to improve my work in the future.**

 **Anyway, to recap for those who don't quite understand what happened, we saw the campaign to take over China 4 years in where the Kwantung army is at a standstill with regards to the Elemental Nations because they are obstinately refusing to deal with them politically (because if you know anything about Japanese during this time period, you will know the military were STAUNCHLY right wing).**

 **They are held up at the Coast of the Land of Honey, and need to take over Mist as a stepping stone to the other Nations. Because they were geared up for a land battle across the incredibly large Chinese countryside, they did not posses enough ships to conquer the territory with a naval battle. Instead, they chose to focus their efforts into a single psychological attack directed mainly at the civilian population. This bypasses the equally aggressive shinobi by targeting them at their weakest point, and taking advantage of the irrational fear of the public. This is done to leave as much infrastructure and potential fighting forces intact, while firmly establishing an undeniable supremacy which would make the other countries subservient to the Japanese army.**

 **But as we will see, this also leaves a great number of possible rebels, and without a doubt lingering animosity as the 'barbaric' shinobi are exposed to the brutality of modern, Total Warfare.**


	3. Dogs of War

**For those of you who missed my recent message, go back and re-read the last chapter if it's not your first time. It has been significantly altered and the reason (partly) explained.**

* * *

The first time he saw an Imperial Soldier… he was not impressed. Even marching smartly down the main street in perfect columns, proudly draped with banners and festooned with strange looking weapons, they failed to impress him as much as his home's shinobi protectors had.

And from what he could tell, others thought the same. Those warriors who had vowed to protect their native village stared at the invading forces with undisguised contempt and hatred. There was an overarching feeling of impotence among the ranks of Konoha shinobi, and also betrayal at having their families and friends surrendered without so much as a fight against these wimpy-looking conscripts who had never even heard of the magical force called Chakra before they set foot in their land.

To be fair, it wasn't the foot-soldiers Konoha's council surrendered to. It was that symbol which they bore, the power which the Chrysanthemum represented backed up by legions more troops and weapons which could level buildings with a careless flick of the wrist. It was the promise of total annihilation, and the belief that it could be carried out which caused the people to stare back with such animosity, but not lift a finger to stop the takeover of their way of life.

It would be a good thing. That's what they said, the political indoctrinators wearing black armbands who went around to spread the cult of obedience to every nook and cranny of their village.

Maybe they were right, for along with the guns and the bombs trucked in with that new authority and new words to describe the horrible wonders, there came food, technology, and good will.

It could have just been his childish naiveite which assumed that the merriment carried on at a surface level was genuine. But even back then he could sense the undercurrent of unease which flourished with each new post opened up for the Imperial Garrison.

Nothing happened, though. At least, nothing that affected him. There were minor rebellions which were put down harshly by both military and local authority, the reiterated threat of annihilation still looming even months after the coup. People would snipe harsh remarks at the collaborators, the Uchiha Police who went along with the new regime. But the truth was that almost everyone had transitioned into the new lifestyle, little having changed at the day to day, and the promise of a better tomorrow ever enticing.

They had seen the stick, and then came the carrot.

Where once there had been tacky posters for the ninja academy, now there were stylish murals depicting the glorious contributions to be made in the name of the Empire. There was colorful propaganda everywhere one looked, decrying the evils of the 'enemy' and extolling the virtues of serving the nation.

Better food, better pay, and equal treatment for all. Peace between the shinobi nations at long last, and old animosities buried beneath the pavement of progress. That was the reality, for a while.

Like was said before, life for him was the same, if not better. He still entered the ninja academy at age seven, just a single year after the takeover. And he graduated at age nine, a full three years faster than he would have going through the normal track.

During that entire time, the students, or 'cadets' as they were called, were separated from their families. So, there was no longer any animosity being passed down from father to son and mother to daughter, and all was equal under the authority. Camaraderie was required, and necessary to pass the trials they were put through.

It was much harder than he thought it would be, but he never complained. They were giving him what he wanted, they were making him stronger and furthermore acknowledging him for the first time in his life.

It wouldn't last, though.

They knew that the Empire had enemies. Powerful enemies that might even be stronger than their combined might. That was one of the motivations for succumbing to their rule, and one of the requirements of subservience was to fight those villains alongside. It was a mutually beneficial effort, it was said. The people of the Empire were of the same blood, were their brethren that lifted them into the light so that they would stop fighting and killing their kin.

Don't kill them. Kill these people instead. Can't you see how much different they are from us?

Naruto couldn't see much of a difference. Didn't notice the flatter face, the darker hair, or the rounder cheeks which marked their 'enemies'. Only the way they cried, begged for mercy with words he couldn't understand, and fought tooth and nail for their lives and the lives of the ones they held dear.

He might never know the names of the ones he killed, might never speak their language, but that became true of the officers who commanded him as well. Out of their mouths came words he thought he recognized, but failed to understand.

Were these people not human? What was the difference, anyway, between their brown eyes and his blue?

Talk like that was seditious and earned him many lashings. Even in his punishment they never touched him. Keeping him at the length of a whip. He didn't know the answers to these questions, only that he never wanted to feel that alone again.

* * *

Walking through that straw-hut village, somewhere far south of his home and the forests he had come to know, he still managed to feel alone. That horrible feeling could not be escaped, even now.

The houses were vacant and smoldering as the flames spread from roof to roof, consuming that lonely settlement atop the hill slowly but surely. Soon, there would be nothing left to tell that anyone had ever been there. The dead had been removed and buried unceremoniously in a mass grave in the rice patties to the west. A reminder that the same fate awaited them should they disobey.

Alone he felt powerless. The other shinobi in his unit he didn't know. By the time he would learn their names he would be transferred somewhere else to start again. Forever transient, moving from battlefield to battlefield like the proverbial Wandering Jew, no longer having a place to call his own.

Where once there were comrades now there was… nothing. Not even a desire, only an instinct to keep living, or rather, keep moving.

Alone he heard a noise. Hand leaping to his leather holster and withdrawing a kunai. An empty doorway lay before him, black smoke beginning to flow from under the lintel. It was just the crackling of the flames?

A cough from inside. He let the blade fly, heard it impact something other than crumbling stucco.

He looked at the crumpled form of a human- a girl. She looked a few years younger- could have been the same age, but it was hard to tell with the lines of malnutrition tricking his judgment, and the smattering of blood obscuring her face.

She would be dead soon, anyway. Even without his kunai deep in her shoulder, she was nothing but skin and bones. Too weak to run away, too weak even to cry out in pain. He wanted to pity her, but couldn't. Couldn't empathize with this shallowly breathing husk in front of him.

He turned his back. The fire would spread and finish her soon. She would run out of oxygen long before she burned. It was of little consolation.

"Wait…"

Like the first sound, he wanted to believe it was imagined. In fact, to this day, he didn't know if he actually heard the words, or merely heard the pleading sound like a siren's call.

"Wait…"

Suddenly finding himself sitting next to her on that barren dirt floor, so close to that almost-human form carved from living stone. He watched the rise and fall of her chest get slower and slower like a vulture from on high… or was he the one with the bleeding heart, staring up at his murderer? There was no longer any difference between them as he touched her matted hair the color of coal, stroking it until she fell asleep at long last.

When he looked next at his hands stained with blood, there was pattering of clear liquid like raindrops which tried to wash it away. When had he started to cry? When had he started to empathize?

When had he given up, and simply died?

* * *

 _August 20th, 1942_

 _New Britain, Papua New Guinea 0445 Hours_

Entwined in his fingers were those raven locks, face met with those same obsidian eyes, so hollow, so full of fear of being left alone. His hands were squeezing, not letting go, never letting go, ever again…

"N-ru-to!"

The sound of his name caused him to breath again. He was still alive.

"Na-!"

Hands clutching at his wrists, nails digging deep into his flesh. That visceral sensation kicking him harshly back into consciousness.

"Haku!"

He released the black-haired boy from his grip. Throwing back the thin blanket from his legs, he sat up and crouched over his hacking teammate, patting his back concernedly and trying not to let the similar image drag him back into his dream- his memory.

Finally, the teen's breath evened out into a strained wheezing and he glanced up at a mortified Naruto with a face even paler than normal. It was even harder to bear that face knowing that Haku would never yell at him for it, never raise a hand against him in anger. Ever since he'd met him, the effeminate boy had been nothing if not kind. In contrast to their harsh commander, he was the pinnacle of fairness, absolutely detached.

And now he'd gone and cut the one tie he'd managed to make, strangling him in a nightmarish fit.

"We're moving out." Haku managed at last, not looking him in the eye and rubbing his slender throat with equally spidery hand. "We're to head to Burma where we'll receive new orders."

"Haku, I'm sorry."

There was nothing behind that emotionless mask beautifully carved into skin as white as porcelain. Maybe a little bit of annoyance at him for failing to acknowledge his task.

"Be sure to be ready to move out in ten. Our transport disembarks at 0600 sharp."

He should have been hurrying to pack up his kit seeing as it was a good hour's run to the shore from their camp. But he found he couldn't so much as move, still staring at his shaking hands and trying to dissuade himself from seeing the blood stained permanently on there.

"There will be time, later."

Looking up to meet that same blank slate as Haku stepped out of the little foxhole he had dug for himself. It might have softened, just a little.

"We can talk about it. There will be plenty of time on the ship. If you want."

He nodded as the doll-like face of the boy disappeared into the jungle, probably to finish his duty and wake the rest of their small unit. Looking down at his hands, he noticed they had stopped shaking, and he could no longer smell either iron or smoke. Just the dense jungle all around.

As his body went through the routine of gathering up his meager sleeping gear and stuffing it into the voluminous pack, Naruto let his mind wander about the nature surrounding him. He would be sad to leave it, wondering when he would return to this sort of fecundity. The next few weeks at least were slated to be spent onboard a metal craft, and he wanted to enjoy what little time he had left.

So many had died on those hotly contested islands. So many he'd killed were now hidden behind the living veil of vines and leaves, swallowed up by the insatiable Earth and returned to life again in the plants which thrived eternal.

It was a comforting feeling being within the jungle's walls. He wondered if he would ever bloom again.

* * *

 _July 2_ _nd_ _, 1939_

 _IJA Special Forces Base (Tokushusakusengun), Land of Hotsprings 1420 Hours_

"Woah, easy there. Surely you can't be that anxious to leave?"

Their cadet leader raised an eyebrow in amusement- the only thing they could see of his face really to let them know his mood. It was amazing the range of emotion he could manage with just that single eye.

"Right. Everyone set their packs down here. I'm going to go talk to the XO for a bit, so you have a few hours to yourselves. Try not to wander off and get yourselves shot, ne?"

The silver-haired man whom they'd come to know more in the week-long journey to the coast than they had in the entire time in the probationary period sent the lot a casual wave before he disappeared in a puff of smoke. The children in identical khaki suits all sighed deliberately and threw their heavy loads on the concrete, stretching aching limbs from the days of humping it over river and road.

Some took out snacks they'd squirreled away, notes and send-off gifts from family and loved-ones.

Not him. He sat alone on his pack, looking out to the sea.

It was a beautiful day, and this was his first time ever seeing the ocean- well, it had recently been corrected that it was actually a massive lake. But wasn't that the beauty of such a thing that it could make you forget that less-than perfect reality? Something so big that it could be imperfect, and you would never even know it. The body of water dwarfed the cold, gray battleships and frigates moored just a stone's throw away, eclipsed their unflinching hulls and smoothed their prickly battlements.

So entranced was he by this sight that he'd finally been allowed to enjoy, that he almost didn't hear the mousy greeting behind him.

"He-hello."

The surprise that someone was willingly talking to him outside of the barked commands almost toppled him from his seat. Recovering from the slip with a half a turn, he replied to the speaker with a dry mouth.

"Hello yourself."

With hair bobbed into an acceptable military cut and hidden underneath a garrison cap equally uninspiring, it would normally be hard to tell who it was among the three-dozen graduates of Konoha Military Academy Class 3. But there was no mistaking those pupil-less pale eyes and stuttering demeanor.

"What's up, uh, Hinata, right?"

The bowed her head deeply, confirming this but also hiding the blush painted across her face.

"It's just- well, w-we may not s-see each other after u-unit assignments…a-and I just wanted t-to t-t-to- here!"

Amidst the starting and stopping of her sentence it was difficult to understand just exactly what she was saying. Or perhaps it was just because he wasn't used to someone talking to him like this that he just stared at the proffered gift with wide, confused eyes without realizing that it was meant for him.

"I-I just thought that you might want s-something to remember…"

The wounded tone in her voice when he didn't immediately reach out and accept what was offered roused him from the strange trance he was held in. He took the flat package from her with a mumbled thanks and no small amount of chagrin, turning the perfectly wrapped package over in his hands.

"Can I- can I open it?"

With a barely contained smile and a nod she lent permission for him to tear open the colored paper.

Which he didn't. He carefully deconstructed the masterpiece of wrapping, undoing the folds like he was disarming a bomb yet savoring every moment of it. Part of him felt like he should hurry lest their leader, Kakashi-sensei return unexpectedly. But this was probably the only gift he had ever- perhaps would ever receive, and he wanted to make it special.

"It's…"

No amount of gilding could make what was underneath any more special in his eyes. It was perfect just the way it was.

"Is this really… for me?"

Doubt that it was really happening prevented him from looking away, lest the object in his hands disappear into thin air. Even her words proclaiming the truth failed to make it any more real.

It wasn't real. It was a photograph. One of all of them, their graduating class and the teachers standing proud behind their neatly organized forms. Everyone was there, those pompous uniforms not hiding the expressions of individual pride etched on their youthful faces. It was impossible to miss himself amongst the crowd. He purposefully stuck out like a sore thumb, flashing a peace sign to the camera with a grin that had no place in a military academy. But even if that were true, he suspected they kept this copy for that reason alone, because he made that picture unique with his enthusiasm which was sorely lacking in their world of late.

It was just a standard photo with a standard frame to be purchased on request. Usually by the families of the graduates as a send-off gift. Either that, or a reminder of their son or daughter who might never be coming home. Not that any of them knew that. It recorded the happiest day of their lives, and it wouldn't ever be like that again.

For Naruto though, _this_ was the happiest moment of his life. When someone recognized him as a person for the first time. In training they had all been equal- equally nothing. He was used to being nothing. Now they were soldiers, and citizens of the Empire.

Wasn't it beautiful that something so small could make one forget the less-than-perfect reality?

For him, things would never be this good again.

* * *

 _October 16_ _th_ _, 1942_

 _IJA Eastern Headquarters Rangoon, Burma_

"So what's the plan, boss man?"

Zabuza glared down at him with the entirety of his 183cm height which scraped the top of the canvas tent and made him feel chills despite the sweltering heat. If this was Fall, he'd hate to see what it was like during Summer.

The other occupants of the tent rolled their eyes at his constant prodding of their commander. They would remind him of this when he was pulling extra KP or worse- latrine duty later on, but he would just shrug them off. The ex-swordsman from the Hidden Mist had it out for him since day one, and nothing he said now would change that.

Against the expectations of everyone who was waiting to hear their latest orders passed down from on high, the shark-toothed man blatantly ignored Naruto's provocations to address the team at large.

"We'll be moving out in three days to meet up with a representative from the Indian National Army. The plan is at zero hour to hop aboard some requisitioned fishing vessels that will take us off-shore of Calcutta. From there it's all frog-work."

That was when he turned his gaze to Naruto, and rather than a sneer or reprimand, he greeted him with a mouth full of those razor-sharp teeth upturned in a menacing smile.

"Which means that you- gaki, are going to have to learn our water-breathing technique

"-or die trying."

Naruto stuck his tongue out at the man as he cackled his way back to the command tent, the back of his irregularly altered uniform mocking him as he strode away.

"Relax, Naruto-kun. You're not that only one that will have to learn it within three days' time."

The truth of this statement did not keep the frown off his face. Rather, as he surveyed the rest of the constipated expressions on the other shinobi whom he was sure were reassessing their life-choices, he was forced to wonder just why he himself was here.

Zabuza had once told him outright the reason. At the time, he refused to believe. But as he went through the list of the comrades he knew and their specialized abilities, he realized that he himself contributed very little to their mission set. Thus, he was forced to finally admit to himself that the man hadn't been trying to put him down, rather spare him from a meaningless death.

" _We're all here because we're expendable, brat. They don't give to shits about whether we live or we die. They'll send us on impossible missions time and again. Each time getting more and more undoable until we fail. They don't care if we succeed. In fact, they might not_ _ **want**_ _us to succeed. We're too dangerous and every time we come back just cements that fact more and more in their heads._

" _And you know why? It's not because we're powerful or bloodthirst or even insane. It's because we_ _ **defy**_ _them. We reject the orders that will get us killed and we reject_ _ **death**_ _itself."_

It was still hard to understand why they would do something like that to their own people. They fought and killed and died for the cause they were indoctrinated to believe in. It was hard arguing when staring down the barrel of an enemy's gun.

But what if they stopped? What if they simply refused to fight anymore? What then? Would the Empire condemn them as traitors- could the rest even compete against a combine force of shinobi?

That was just a pipe-dream, however. Quite when it had become a fantasy and no longer a goal, he hadn't a clue. Life was a game that had all of a sudden turned deadly, and it did so overnight. Everything else changed in the moments when he wasn't looking. In the darkness of his blinks and in the moments when he was no longer breathing.

When had things come to this, though?

* * *

 _March 10_ _th_ _, 1940_

 _Chengdu, Sichuan, China 1723 Hours_

The fires had long since died out, many nights ago. The burned-out husk of the village still lay at its final resting place with the unidentifiable remains of a girl somewhere far away, in another life.

Here was much the same. The ancient capital had fallen with disheartening ease, its past all too easily erased with the cleansing flame. All that was left here now were bombed-out husks and stray dogs in the guise of men.

They put him in charge of the prisoners. Not that those lifeless ghosts needed much supervision, just sitting there he was enough of a deterrent for this human flotsam who flinched now at the slightest crack as damaged buildings settled. They stared at him with hollow and hungry eyes- not even with the impotent defiance, not even with hate.

It wasn't that much of a surprise. These weren't the enemy he was used to fighting. These were civilians, abandoned by the defending army when they had caught but a whiff of their unit at the outskirts. His kind had become a kind of boogieman whose reputation was even more effective than their combat record. All that was needed to do was put one or two shinobi with a few flashy techniques within each regiment to strike fear in the hearts of the feckless rebel army. Even their youthful age worked to this end, making them seem something more than human.

For him, it felt like he was less. He had longed to be acknowledged, respected. Not feared. In the beginning he had tried to convince himself it was the same thing, that he was gaining respect from the soldiers he fought alongside. But as times progressed he felt less and less like a member of a team, and more like a commodity.

Once a blade, now he was a guard dog, and it made no difference either way.

He caught the kunai aimed for his head without looking and without standing from his stone seat. The huddled prisoners flinched at the sudden appearance, but he paid them no heed.

"Well, good to see that you're not totally aloof."

Inspecting the knife before looking at her, he heaved a sigh as he tossed it back.

Catching it with equal ease, she rolled her eyes at his silence as she strode over purposefully.

"Why do people always have to look so dour? I'm the one who always has the boring job of relieving you, and then I'm stuck with these people until higherups can figure out what to do with them."

She had an odd way of relaying orders, if what he understood was correct. But he was in no mood to complain or argue. Just rest. He would find where the rest of his unit had settled in for the night and join them- that is if he hadn't been reassigned again.

In fact, what was the hurry? He was comfortable where he was, and the conscripts of the infantry division he'd fallen in with a week ago hardly knew his name. They would not miss his presence.

"You don't have to baby-sit me, you know." The one sent to relieve him said with indignation, twirling the kunai they had passed back and forth, oblivious to the anguish it was causing the captives. "I **am** a shinobi just like you."

The kunai gave it away, but he still glanced her way. Mostly just to see if she was still there.

"You're a kunochi." He admitted with a small nod, seeing the requisite headband which had been replaced with a universal symbol of the Empire, and told him nothing of where she was from.

The light but omnipresent smile that had been on her face since she attempted to assassinate him soured with this statement.

"I'm a ninja." She said with more force than he thought was necessary.

"That's what I said,"

"No, you said I was a _kunochi_." The term twisted her lips like something especially sour. "I'm just as capable a fighter as you. In fact, when did you graduate? I've probably got a leg up in experience."

"I was in Konoha Military Academy's 3rd Class."

"What? Really? I was in the 2nd!"

That wasn't too big of a coincidence, considering. He'd met up with none too few of his classmates over the past year and change. No one had recognized him, of course. Should he recognize her?

"What's your name, anyway?" She asked as she casually took a seat next to him on the stone steps of the once opulent palace. "I mean, I might as well know it if you're going to keep me company."

There was no logic that he could follow to this conversation. First, she was upset with him, and now she was asking his name? Why? And more importantly, how? How did she seem so unaffected by the wanton destruction which surrounded them?

"Naruto. Uzumaki Naruto." Luckily, he had no problem following illogical proceedings. He was a soldier, after all.

"I'm Tenten. No last name." That was the least surprising thing about this encounter.

Unlike that time before, there was nothing to say. The gift of the blade had been passed back and forth between then, and he had nothing else to add.

"So… Naruto…" She seemed determined to fill the air nonetheless, even though it was already rancid with the awful smells of death and destruction. Maybe she was trying to compensate for that. "Got any good stories?"

If she was looking for horror stories, he had those in abundance. The lighthearted ones from his childhood he could no longer remember, and he doubted she wanted to hear about his useless dream or former antics anyway. There was no longer any Hōkage, and not much point to pulling pranks. The biggest joke had been pulled on them.

"Oh, come on, you must have _something_." She insisted, seeing his reticence. He shook his head.

"What about you?"

A long-suffering look crossed her face as she rolled her eyes heavily, body following them to lie against the stone railing where once a lion statue had perched.

"Nah. Like I said before, I only get guard duty. That's the only thing they're willing to trust _females_ to do." Raising her hands to the sky to form mocking quotation marks. "I'm told I should consider myself lucky that I'm _allowed_ to do that."

It must have been because he wasn't used to holding long conversations with his squad mates that he couldn't keep track of the conversation. What did being a girl have to do with anything? Did they not die the same way as everyone else? He nodded his head all the same, hoping it could be construed as sympathy.

"Mm-hm. You are lucky."

Once again it must have been the wrong thing to say, for her offence was clear as she shot up like a whip to brandish that same knife in a clenched fist, looking him over perhaps to see if she heard right based on the condescending expression that would be found on his face. She wouldn't find anything, and instead gave an obnoxious snort as the blade twirled hungrily in her hand.

"Yeah, sure, _**lucky**_." The word was dripping with sarcasm and as much hate as he'd seen in the faces of the enemy. "I bet the only reason they stuck me here is because they don't think I'm pretty enough to go on a seduction mission- Not that I'd ever stoop to do something so- so-!"

There was a visible wave of reflex within the human tide as her blade found its way into the very rock, an angry ping reverberating around the courtyard. Tenten took a few seething breaths with her hand resting uncomfortably on the ringed hilt before she realized what she had done and attempted to extract it from its stony sheath.

Naruto watched for a few short minutes out of the corner of his eye before he leaned over and wrenched it free himself.

"Here." She snatched it back quickly and tucked it away without surveying the damage.

" _Thanks_."

He took it at face value, paying no heed to the indignation which he clearly detected. They fell into an uncomfortable silence after that, the only sounds were of the dying breaths of the city, and a few whimpers from the pack of prisoners too fearful to try anything after that stunt, if they'd ever been tempted to at all.

"Hey… what's it like, on the front lines?"

Blinking as he tried to decide if he'd actually heard the soft interrogative, and then again what she had truly meant by it. Figuring out what it was she wanted to hear.

"I mean… it's got to be better than this… right?"

Looking for the first time at the grim and ashen faces under his watch like they were something more than just chattel was almost too much to bear. Swallowing heavily and averting his eyes from the longing gazes flinchingly shot their way, he tried to form words on his parched lips.

"Out there…" She looked over to him as his mouth began the longest stream of words he'd uttered thus far in their talk. Maybe the most he'd said in a long time.

"Out there… it's easier. There's no time to think, no time to second guess. You just… _do_." Forcing himself to scan the faces averting themselves from his scrutiny. "I don't know… maybe it's better. You don't have to think about it… don't _want_ to think about it too long." As he regurgitated the words, they became more and more disgusting in his mouth and he began to feel sick to his stomach. Choking on the truth he'd swallowed for so long. "I wanna say, want to believe it's us or them. But the truth… the truth is… I don't know anymore."

Letting that last thought hang there, he prepared himself for that kunai to be used against him once again. Steeled himself for the vindicated blow that would strike him down for his traitorous words as she had every right to do. Or at the very least, for her to quickly report his treason to one of the political officers lurking about, feeding off the wreckage.

"You shouldn't say things like that." He nodded deadly.

But the blow never came. In the pervading silence which followed that simple statement he wondered if time had simply stopped in the instant before his death and he would be forced to live in this guilty hell for an eternity in recompense for all his sins.

"I see…" She said at last, breaking him from this illusion.

Her voice was dead, like his, with this admission. Her own hopes dashed as he told her the truth as he knew it. Maybe she had known… maybe they both had known all along that this life they'd chosen was not the primrose path which had been promised. Would it have been different if the Empire had never arrived? Would they have held on to their innocence a little bit longer?

In the end it didn't seem to matter as both would have to carry on with their duties. There was no alternative that they knew. Maybe that sense of necessity was another illusion that they only had to realize in order to break. But at the moment neither had the strength necessary to do so. Resistance would have to come another day.

"Lucky… huh?"

"Mm-hm."

"S'pose so…"

Even the embers had quenched in the hours which passed, and the hopeless resigned themselves to their undeath, no longer whimpering, no longer making a sound other than the basic necessities for life. A sniffle here, shifting of straw sandals and the shallow drone of stubborn breathing.

Tenten watched as the only thing to do in the fading light, a mother stroking her child's hair as it rested in her lap. Unconscious of the action as her milky eyes stared straight ahead.

"They're… going to be alright, you know?"

Naruto still sat there, unmoving since she had arrived. Still as the bodies which had been dragged off to be buried in unmarked holes.

"These people. It'll take a long time, many years, I'm sure. But… they'll be alright. They'll move on from this."

Humans were resilient. That, he had known forever. But could life really spring back up from the dead like that? Would these lowly curs become human once again?

"You can stay here… if you want."

He wasn't moving anyway. But somehow the permission made him feel at ease. Like a command he obeyed.

There rested a weight on his head, fingers kneading his messy blond locks which hadn't been cut in weeks and were now wild as the dandelions growing over the fresh graves. He leaned in to the sensation, gave up to the intimate feeling as well as his weariness and lay his head upon her lap. There was made no move to prevent this, and instead the calloused hand continued its ministrations under the warm chocolate eyes of the watcher, his relief.

The people of this city would recover, and society would flower again. Would they? What was the difference between them, anyway?

* * *

 **So I guess the only real thing of note historically in this chapter (apart from the Easter Eggs which are so esoteric I would miss them on first read) is the Indian National Army. For those of you who don't know, India fought with the Allies during WWII, because they were still a British Colony. There was a section, however, which used the chaos to vie for independence, and the Indian National Army was born in 1942. It really did fight alongside Imperial Japanese Forces in the CBI (China-Burma-India) theater, and the only real liberty I'm taking here is that the Japanese have pushed farther than they managed to during the real campaign, driving the British from Myanmar (then it was called Burma, and the capital Rangoon).**


	4. Sweet Bye and Bye

_October 19_ _th_ _, 1942_

 _Calcutta, India 0430 Hours_

It was still very much nighttime, but the lights of the city sprawl were eternally lit, shadows blending the old with the new. Steel suspension bridges spanned canals ancient when the Elemental nations had been born, AA-gun emplacements jutting up like esoteric totems of a lively culture, already dead and festering inside.

He came up gagging, not near enough to throw himself upon the steps of one of those pristine limestone temples. Instead, finding himself under the cover of a dilapidated pier somewhere far away from the industrial district occupied by Allied naval vessels of a colorful assortment. The once-sacred temples in the storied Old District held their own dangers in the form of fat and contemptuous officers of a foreign army which had declared themselves enemies. Even here, occasional searchlights swept the deserted beaches searching for the footprints they'd never find.

All this to meet with the enemy's enemy, not necessarily friendly.

A firm hand wrenched him free of the muck which mired him up to his knees, dirty sediment still clinging to his face and lungs.

"Hurry up, brat."

There was not enough of a moon to see the muddy scowl on his face, but he still didn't let it linger long. His commanding officer had the uncanny ability to know what was going on around him, even if it was impossible to see one's hand in front of their face.

Several splashes only slightly louder than the gently slapping waves let him know the rest of their unit had made it. Despite the less-than stellar entrance, he had made it as well.

"*Ptoo!* This stuff is nasty…"

Careful to wipe his mouth before he smirked, he did not wish to make the same mistake as one of his less-fortunate comrade.

Zabuza's demon eyes seemed to glow under the abject darkness of the pier, cowing his subordinates into silence. They followed his lead, wading in with the murky tide.

"Is there someone there?"

They heard a voice ask in English, in an accent he didn't recognize. A soft metal click that he did recognize followed it. His hand unconsciously palmed one of his throwing knives, intuitively training on to the origin of the voice, aiming at the dark spot in between the slats overhead.

"S-state the password!" The voice hissed.

"Iwakuro Kikan."

The water wasn't cold, but they shivered underneath the casual malice of their commanding officer. The boards above them even seemed to issue an extra groan for the legendary swordsman, speaking before the man who stuttered a reply which was meaningless to them but apparently the right thing to say to keep Zabuza from turning the pier into matchsticks.

"I am Lt. Col. Muhammed Zaman Kiani."

The smartly-uniformed officer greeted them on shore, managing to compose himself in front of a dozen filthy and irate killers.

"Ugh! Does the whole city just dump their shit here or does it just smell like it?"

The Lt. Colonel declined to answer, either not understanding the colloquial Japanese or else fearing reprimand.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me…"

He pitied the Inuzuka, not only for this unenviable situation of having a sensitive nose in such an olid environment, but for being one of the few women on their squad. It must have been a bitter and ungratifying ordeal, to be allowed a frontline position against the bias of her gender, only to then be stuck with the castoffs and reprobates of the IJA. Salt in the wound, or in this case, feces.

"I apologize for having you enter into the city this way. But as you must have seen, the harbor is not safe right now. If all goes well with these talks, this problem should go away in the future."

Unperturbed by either smell and seemingly professional to a fault, Kiani fished out a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his trimly knit sweater and handed it to their NCO, who ironically had more clean patches on him than their entire group combine. Zabuza took it ungratefully and used it to wipe the speckles of mud from his face and forehead protector, tossing it on the ground contemptuously under the unruffled stare of the Indian Officer.

"I am afraid that I will still have to ask you to hurry. The Colonials are keeping regular patrols even here, as they are nervous about the Local Forces' trustworthiness to keep watch."

It was little wonder why, as their sole purpose there was to undermine British authority with the help of Indian Nationalists who had been in talks with the Imperial Government since before the war. Naruto resisted the urge to snark about this, but one of their group huddled up to his left didn't, and allowed him a wry chuckle.

"We will provide you with food and a change of clothes at our destination. Come, we have transport around the corner."

* * *

 _October 19_ _th_ _, 1942_

 _Calcutta, India 0715 Hours_

The ride in the back of a coopted military lorry had not been pleasant. Never minding the stench nor the bodies crammed up to one another like sardines, jostling one another with every bump along the cobblestone streets. They were shinobi, and as such detested being stuck in such a vulnerable position while being carted through enemy territory. A Military Police actually stopped their truck once. For one fleeting, tense moment during the driver's interrogation, they envisioned having to fight their way out of the heart of Allied lines under the full visibility of a hazy dawn.

But ironically, the smell emanating from the back discouraged the nosey MP from being all that thorough. A lucky break, or perhaps their contact had planned that from the beginning?

"Excuse me, Shinobi sir, are your people ready-ah…"

Now that they had been washed and fed the only thing left was to get dressed in the clothes considerately provided for them. Basic khaki drill and wool that was standard for all branches under her 'Majesty's' service. None in the pile fit him of course, the shorts hanging like hakama around his ankles and unflatteringly held up by a belt he had to poke extra holes in. Though considering he was now clean for the first time in weeks and was no longer breathing human waste, he supposed there was no reason to complain.

Besides, he was dressed. Unlike some people.

"What're you staring at?!"

A small parting of the lips was the only shock the Lieutenant Colonel allowed himself to show, even as he stared in incomprehension for the better part of thirty seconds.

"My man asked you a question." The shadow of Zabuza eclipsed Naruto from behind, but for once he was not scared.

"F-forgive me, I was unaware your group contained… females."

"Oh?" The lack of malice in that curious statement made it all the more frightening to those who knew him. "Where do you see women? The ones under my command are all _shinobi_. Each and every one is capable of gutting all one-hundred and fifty-two soldiers in this residence before you could even raise an alarm."

"Yes… of course." The Lt. Col. took this threat with more ease than he did the surprise of walking in on several men and women in the state of undress. "I merely meant that had we known, I would have been able to provide more… appropriate clothing."

"It gets the job done." The Inuzuka whom he only now remembered was called Hana (the irony not being lost that she still smelled anything but flowery), dismissed the concern, finally squeezing herself into one of the pullover shirts and tying the draping shirttails into a knot above her stomach. It was more flattering than the caking muck, at least. "Well? What're we waiting for? Let's fucking go meet these bigwigs."

"Inuzuka." She stopped mid-stride as did the rest of their motley crew upon the commanding tone of their senior officer. "You're on guard duty outside along with Mitarashi, Iwakuro, Hikari, Janaki and Kawabe. The rest are on 'personal protection' detail."

There was no grumbling from the battle-hardened shinobi, but a meek protest from Kiani.

"Excuse me, Lt.-uh-Zabuza, sir, but I really don't think the guards are necessary. This safehouse is one of our most secure, and forgive me for saying so, but even with the uniforms, I don't… think…that…"

The uptight officer sent to guide them had obviously not been thoroughly prepped for his job if he was take aback by the basic illusionary technique half the shinobi cast over themselves upon being handed their assignment. A half-dozen small pops and wisps of smoke filled the room before several unremarkable, dark faces took the place of their usual eccentric assortment. Those too disappearing not soon after in barely-visible blurs which ruffled the man's perfectly groomed mustache.

"Yes… well…" Bemused and searching for a new purpose, his eyes settled on Naruto as the youngest among them by a fair margin. But after looking him dead in the eye, he resolved not to do it again. "Shall we go meet Command?"

"-'Bout damn time."

* * *

 _June 1_ _st_ _, 1940_

 _Road to Kunming, Yunnan, China 0900 Hours_

"Heave!"

The roughly hewn timber budged but a little, the river not giving up its hold on it so easily.

"Come on, put your backs into it! Ichi! Ni!-

" **SAN!** "

The collective cried with as much desperation and heart as they put into their efforts. Numerous feet sinking into the mud, hemp ropes slipping against calloused palms and not a single hand without a splinter in it. Still, their toil proved fruitful when the twisted and fractured beam finally broke free and bodies scrambled to get out of its way lest it suck them downstream with the surging river.

"It's not break-time yet! We still have three more columns to replace before the bridge is done! We need to have it complete before supply train gets here! Those men fighting in the city need the ammunition!"

Only slightly more energetic than zombies, they made what haste they could with the knowledge that their thankless job was crucial for the campaign. And more importantly, for their allies entrenched just a few kilometers away under enemy fire.

It was for only that reason that he continued moving. The only reason he hadn't simply disappeared off the face of the earth as soon as he'd gotten the chance, the moment he realized that no one was coming for him. They might not care about him, but he never abandoned his comrades.

It was the enemy he had a hard time believing in.

Months had passed, a lifetime since and the image of that burning village still haunted him, the girl he couldn't save and the one who saved him. So he worked, to run, to try and undo the things he had done. To try and do something himself, something right for once.

After being discharged from guarding the prisoners by his fellow kun- _shinobi_ , he had not gone back to camp. In fact, he hadn't left, even when she later bid farewell, marching the column of walking-dead into the sunset.

Just, stayed there. No one came for him. No one to tell him what his duty was next, he was free from that cycle he had been mired in for as long as he could remember.

So he walked. Aimlessly wandered, fighting only when someone made him. Killing only when necessary.

War was unavoidable, and it eventually caught up to him. The engineering corps ended up finding him in one village or another. Thinking him lame or dumb, but recognizing at least his military rank and taking him in as another body in an endemically-understaffed regiment. No questions were raised as he worked like a mule, repairing roads, mending wires, or in this case, building bridges. He didn't know what he was doing, but always did as commanded without complaint, and so none were ever leveled at him.

Until today.

"Alright! Good job men! Uzumaki, way to pull your weight!"

That comment only partly in jest got a few snickers from the soldiers around him, men twice his size slapping his back heartily and pinching his cheeks with affection. He didn't mind, it was all in good humor. Everyone there acknowledged that not only did he pull his own weight, but several other's as well. All this without the benefit of Chakra, which he silently vowed not to use lest he be found out and returned to the front.

He didn't have to worry about that now, though, as he absently ate his mess-tin filled with a meager portion of stewed meat which might have been chicken, vegetables probably stolen, and polished rice sans the ubiquitous Ume. A special treat awaited him whenever he was ready for it, a single ball of dango that one of the other soldiers had received in a package from his home.

It was such a precious thing that he wasn't even sure he wanted to eat it, just savor the idea until it turned to dust in his palm.

"Hey there!"

Maybe he ought to just scarf it down, for death was always near and regrets not worth entertaining. Even now he was seeing visions of a joyous afterlife where he might be reunited with everyone precious from his past.

It was drearily empty.

"Maa, you can't have forgotten about me already, right, Naruto-san?"

The few grains of rice stuck between his chopsticks stopped just short of his mouth as he looked up into the face eclipsing the early afternoon sun.

"Do I know you?"

"Ah! So rude!"

The spade descending onto his head was blocked by those same chopsticks, the flat surface shading his eyes just a bit more so he could make out a few more details.

"…Tenten?"

"Hey! You do remember!"

Shovel and animosity disappeared as the body plopped itself down next to him against the boulder overlooking their recently completed bridge.

"So where you been? Do anything exciting?"

Would she consider going AWOL exciting? Maybe, but he'd squandered that opportunity to fall in with the most underappreciated corps in the whole IJA because he didn't want to run, or rather, couldn't.

"Not really."

"Yeah right! You seem like the kind of guy to get into all kinds of adventures. I bet you're just holding out on me to spare my feelings, right? Well, no need for that, I'm off to make my own story!"

It would take another few moments in which he chewed his mouthful listlessly for the words to make any sense to him.

"…what?"

"I got transferred!" She jabbed a finger to her underdeveloped chest but with a cocky smile on her face that more than made up for it. "It's not exactly front-line, but the supply-corps has to go everywhere the fighting is, so I'm sure it's just a matter of time!"

She was right about that. War was all around them. It was spreading rapidly across the world, places he'd never even heard of six months ago suddenly declaring their hatred for him and his kind.

"Is that so…?" She never noticed the resignation behind his voice.

"Mm-hm! My family's actually originally from the Eastern Countries, so they said that I could lead my own squad of local troops because I know the language and they would listen to me more. Can you believe it? Me! A squad leader!"

No, he couldn't believe it. Something like that always came with a catch, and it was in the job description. The Kwangtung army was raised from KMT and Communist deserters who were still just as disillusioned now as before. Even less trustworthy now that they realized their place at the bottom of the pecking order in the IJA. A fact represented by putting a _female_ _child_ in charge of them.

Labels which meant nothing to their culture, but was a slap in the face to everyone on the outside from what he'd learned. It was a relationship doomed from the start, and one which might even cost her life if the men under her command decided the cause was no longer worth it.

Despite these dangers, he wasn't sure how he could break that uplifting smile. It was cowardice, it was selfish, but he wanted that smile to continue for himself, so he remained silent.

Joy like that never lasted long, anyway.

"Well, it's been great catching up- I still can't believe I'd find you way out here in the boondocks. I thought for sure someone like you'd be right there in the thick of it." She shaded a hand over her eyes as she stood up and looked out over the grassy plain. Staring at the columns of smoke rising in the distance, after a while issuing a heaving sigh that sounded like a building collapsing.

"But I really do need to be getting back to my unit. We're just stopping here briefly to restock you guys before we continue on to the front. Oh! That reminds me," Reaching a hand into the fold of her shirt, she rummaged around in her bosom as he stared on with blank interest.

"Here!"

Producing something the size of her palm and wrapped in rice-paper which had been mashed and wrinkled traveling against her chest. It was warm and squishy when he took it from her as well. Not knowing what else to make of it, he peeled back the abused wrapping.

"Mochi?"

"With red-bean!" She declared proudly. "Orders from the Emperor himself in recognition for the progress being made to pacify the continent."

None of that made it special, merely the fact that it had passed from her to him. But she hadn't known she'd find him here, so had she carried it around just in the off chance, or…

"This is yours." He realized.

"Nu-uh." She shook her head and lightly tapped him in the nose, making him blink in surprise at the gentle contact. "It's yours, now."

Reminded of another time in a life long ago when he hadn't said what he meant, he struggled to find the words to express his gratitude. Words of thanks, words to keep her there, and then to call her back.

"Tenten- wait!"

But the moment had already gone, her smiling face disappearing with a wave in the distance, like the others, never to return.

"…Wait…"

Clutching the precious sweet to his chest, he could no more stop the time from passing than he could his heart from beating. More alive, and more dead than he had been in what felt like centuries.

"Tokubetsu Jōtōhei Uzumaki Naruto."

That was his obituary being read to him. The war had finally caught up.

"You are hereby under arrest for desertion of your unit in the face of combat. You will come with us to receive your punishment. If you resist, we are authorized to use lethal force."

There were three of them, military police with their black armbands and metal forehead protectors just like his own which he kept hidden in the bottom of his ruck, unable to get rid of it. They were all at least, Heichō in rank and he knew that he wouldn't stand a chance of running, much less winning in a confrontation. Not that he wanted to, anyway.

They would probably execute him. Maybe then he could wait in the next life for Tenten and the others.

Assuming they ended up in the same place, that is.

 _October 19_ _th_ _, 1942_

 _INA Safe House, Calcutta, India 0730 Hours_

"Ah, here at last. Come in, come in."

It was rather lavish for a wartime office, at least compared to the ones they'd seen so far. The speaker was seated behind a fanciful desk of perfumed wood and flanked by colorful depictions of the many esoteric gods from this country.

Contrasting to this stereotypical image they had formed during their brief stay, the man himself looked little like any Indian they had seen. Lighter skin than most and lacking the swarthiness of his compatriots, replaced by an almost boyish softness only exacerbated by the perfectly round glasses perched on his nose.

And yet from the moment they entered the room Kiani, if possible, became even more tense and deferential, standing to the side of the doorway with an arm raised to an odd assortment of seats placed in front of the desk. Seats which most of them neglected as they filed in, opting to take up residence in the corners of the room and in the shadows of the large decorative plants.

Not Haku, though, who never left the side of their Gunsō. And not Naruto, who moved to follow the silent order of his allies, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. He did not complain, nor look Zabuza in the eyes as he lead him over to the seats.

"Hmph. Be glad we made it here at all. If it wasn't the border patrols tighter than a virgin's pussy, your filthy city would have done us in."

The man didn't waver in his impassive half-lidded stare, taking the crass language and insult with the patience of a saint.

"Mm. Then be glad we did not meet in Bombay. There, the stench alone from the Ganges is intolerable. Though I feel that if it took as little as that to bring you down, we should not even be having this discussion in the first place."

Going without his mask for the proceedings, Zabuza grunted in agreement with a small twitch of the lips.

"However," The man behind the desk leaned over deeply, staring at the lot of them all at once over the rims of his thick glasses. "I'm afraid that even the putrid stench of human waste is nothing compared to that of the invaders. For almost a hundred years the British have ruled over our country like masters over slaves, and even the soil itself is becoming toxic with their presence."

The shinobi were unimpressed by the heavy air the man had ushered in with his inflammatory words, used to such demagoguery in their own country, and all too familiar with the murderous intent.

"-Ah, but forgive me. We haven't been introduced. I am Subhas Chandra Bose, head of the Indian National Army and in charge of all its military decisions."

"Sargent Zabuza Momochi." Bose raised an eyebrow to the lack of introductions for his young bodyguards, but did not raise a fuss.

"Momochi-dono, is it?" The man bore his shark-like teeth in a grin, but said nothing in response to this overestimating his status. "Yes, Momochi-dono, I am glad you are here. I believe this is an opportune time for both our forces, you see. While in the beginning our movement was humble, starting with only the handful of soldiers your forces liberated in Malaya, with the recent victories by the IJA over the Chinas, Burma, Thailand, Singapore, public sentiment is finally starting to come over to us from the Nation Congress which has dominated the independence talks for so long.

"Doubtless you have been briefed on our situation, though I know not how much bargaining power your superiors have given you. Thus, I will give you the situation as it stands, such that you may assess what can be done."

Acquiescing with a terse nod, Bose opened his mouth to speak but paused to raise a finger to his man by the door instead, summoning a tea set which would come several minutes later and countless cups for all the lurkers in the room.

"Now then, as I said, we started with a strength of 45,000 expatriates when the IJA overtook Malaya, but now that strength has risen to at least 120,000, give or take. It is hard to be exact due to the clandestine nature of our organization. Without a doubt though, this number can be increased with but a little bit of your assistance. You see, the majority of our people wish for independence from the Colonials anyway, but disagree on the timing and the way to go about it. I myself was part of the National Congress when it first formed, but lost favor for my more ardent stance against British occupation and was imprisoned for a number of years as a result.

"The situation has changed from those dark days, however. War is a polarizing factor for any such internal conflict, and for a great while the majority continued to side with the pacifists because of their fear of the British overlords. But as mentioned, the once unmovable empire has now proven itself vulnerable to your unstoppable sword which promises to excise European rulers from the East.

"The majority of our people are still unaware of your kind, though, as they are unaware of our cause. I will concede this to the British, that they are as brilliant at propaganda warfare as they are the classical kind. They have managed to put a hush order on all such 'seditious' talk about ninja and independence, making it a court-marshal offense among their own ranks, and treasonous among the Indian Army."

"So, you want us to drum up a little fear in the hearts of these Westerners?" Zabuza asked with a smile that made even the imperturbable Indian officers in the room shudder, and the scalding hot tea turn icily cold.

"Essentially… yes." Bose conceded after a while, for the first time perhaps wary of what might be a literal deal with the devil. "Sewing the seeds of discord and chaos behind enemy lines has always been an effective tactic, and one I understand is familiar to your people. There is no denying that our population is massive, rumors will spread like the plague from the slums and shanties to the barracks and tents all along the border. The British themselves may lose heart if their leadership cannot guarantee their safety even behind their own lines."

"Sounds easy enough. Except…"

"I take that to mean that you have reservations?"

The swordsman snorted, knocking back the tea which had finally cooled enough for his liking and gagging at the amount of sugar and spices contained within. Naruto on the other hand enjoyed the spiked sweetness, but was put-off by the indiscriminate spray coming from his commander's mouth.

"Yeah, you could say that." Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, he flicked a few whole cloves against the intricately woven carpet on the floor. "Sure, hit and run is well within our repertoire, and we may even get away with a few of them too. Your city is flooded with people, making it easy enough to slip away unnoticed afterwards.

"But what happens when they wise up, huh? Because believe me, they will. Upping their patrols and defense will only be the first part of it. Pretty soon they'll start cracking down on every little thing, hanging people for stealing a loaf of bread. How long do you think it'll take before some of your 'allies' get the pressure put on them to turn us in?"

"None of-"

"'None of our people would ever betray us, betray the cause'? Something like that?"

The sound of a chair scraping caused the trigger-happy guard to reach for the revolver holstered at his hip before he realized Zabuza was merely guffawing vulgarly. The man glared at this blatant disrespect, but lowered his hand from his firearm anyway. A half-dozen hands around the room had already produced knives with two already poised at his jugular, a third either at his femoral artery or a little higher.

"Sorry, bud, I just find your notion of loyalty funny. After all, aren't you guys betraying your own people by doing this?" Bose declined to answer, continuing to lean on his ritualistic desk with arms steepled and deathly black stare on their commander.

"It's not like I don't understand what you're going through, though. You see, the country I'm from had itself a little civil war, too. That's how I know what the _Man's_ going to do, because I saw it happen with my own two eyes.

"Sons betraying fathers, brothers betraying brothers. Whole families split apart because of fear and because of some paltry sense of _justice_. Justice ain't what war's about. It's about death, nothing else. You seem like you have a pretty comfortable position here, and that just makes me suspicious. Because you see, where I come from, the only people unhappy in their comfy chair are the ones that want even more power. It's like a drug, the most potent kind. Me? I'm happy with my merry little band of misfits. We raise a little hell every now and then, eat, and then do it all over again. The only kind of power I care about is the kind I can use with my own two hands.

"So let me ask you: why do you want to get rid of Tommy? Their country raised yours from a shithole to- well, it's **still** a shithole, so I can only imagine what kind of backwards hell it might have become without their help. Yet you turn your backs on them, turn your backs on your own people, why shouldn't I believe that you'd turn your backs on us as soon as you get the chance?"

The only sound was the Indian National Army's leader breathing heavily in through his nose, visibly fuming with his pale face turning into an auburn blush and the smell of angry sweat wafting through the too-hot morning air.

Zabuza had been correct in everything he'd said, and they would have no problem slaughtering to a man every last person in that complex. Naruto himself had taken out almost an entire battleship with the element of surprise. But what then? They would be hunted, and probably the majority of them would be caught before they could reach the safety of the water. The Allies were getting wise to their kind, and taking new measures to detect their kind somehow using new electronic gadgets.

He'd also been correct about their goal. It was understandable that these people wanted to throw off the yoke of a foreign oppressor, but what then? And would it be worth it, if the goal was reached on a mountain of corpses? That'd always been their solution to things, but maybe because that's all they'd ever been taught.

"What if you just rejoined the National Congress?"

The thought was supposed to be silent and the room deep in conversation, but it turned out to be the opposite. Even the honking horns and sporadic puts of struggling motor vehicles outside on the already bustling streets seemed to fade away as his XO drilled him with two icy lumps of coal. Without a doubt, it was the wrong time to find his words. But after holding them in for so long, something inside of him broke and they came tumbling out, laid bare on that fancy desk for the scrutiny of the world.

"I mean, why not just tell everyone that you're going to stop fighting? What can they do? The British are still worried about the Imperial Army to the East, and I doubt they'd want to fight on two fronts. And even if it's only the men in your command giving up fighting, they can't lock all of you up, can they? They would need the rest of your people to go along with it. But they wouldn't turn on one another like that. I can't believe that they would."

The words were those born of naiveite, even in his ignorance to the world he could recognize that. But it didn't make them any less true, not in his eyes at least. And that stance was reflected in the azure blue eyes, resolutely staring past his NCO and into the glistening olive pits reflecting back at him unblinkingly. He knew what he suggested was insubordination at best, a death sentence for the lot of them at worst if their hosts decided to take this as a sign of weakness. But for a long time, he had all but welcomed death. Now, he simply didn't fear it.

But after a few tense minutes where his head remained staunchly on his shoulders, and his body unperforated, it seemed as if death had once gain overlooked him.

"Young man, you remind me of someone…" Naruto blinked, and even Zabuza turned his attention back to Bose who had returned to his natural shade. "Back in my early political days, there was a man whom I recognized as my rival. Although," Reminiscing fondly, there was a smile on his face despite the heavy atmosphere. ", I doubt he would ever acknowledge as much."

That statement reminded Naruto of someone he had competed against and declared rivalry with back in the Academy. He couldn't help but impose that image in his mind, older and with darker skin. He couldn't help it, even though it was probably not even a close description. That, and that boy he once knew was probably dead.

"You see, some people even believed him the reincarnation of Siddhartha Gautama, for he was imperturbable, immutable in his conviction for a peaceful way forward. He bore no grudges, and did not consider the position of leadership to be a contest. Some saw this as a façade, the tears of a crocodile. To those who truly knew him and not merely the legend he came to represent, they would know this was never possible. I can say that I competed against him with my own methods, but he was never playing. And in the end, all I can trust that my decisions are the right ones."

The wicker chair groaned in sympathy as he leaned back with a heavy sigh, glasses being removed so he could rub a weary hand over his face. There was no doubt he'd been up for the entire night as they had, but these last few minutes had all but sapped him of whatever youthful vigor he simulated.

"You see, this is why I desire your help." Still with foggy brown eyes gazing at the mudbrick ceiling, gnats buzzing silently around the yellow electric light. "I know that my way is correct, and it's not simply about proving him wrong. It's for the sake of my people that we must win. Perhaps in another world, such ideals might work, but I too have seen much history. Read the annals of our ancient civilization and even the legends do not spell a happy ending for those with these thoughts. The best fate is enlightenment, but I imagine that to be a very lonely existence."

"Maybe…" Naruto knew he'd said more than enough and anticipated the beating which awaited him when out of their potential ally's sight. That being said, one more wouldn't hurt. "Maybe you ought to get new legends?"

With that, the closest thing to a smile they'd seen appeared on Bose's face, and he'd replaced the wire-framed glasses on his nose to get a look at this strange young ninja traveling in the company of murderers.

"We'll be your legends." Before he could say anything, Zabuza's gruff voice cut in, his eyes fastened shut and brow furrowed under his crooked headband. It looked like he was in pain until that frozen gaze snapped open and another toothy grin spread wide across his face. "Aye, we'll be your bogymen."

"Good. Excellent." Bose nodded, seemingly not as happy as he had been at first with this agreement. "I have no doubt you'll do a professional job, and afterwards I will be sure to report your exceptional conduct to your superiors. We'll have you out of this backwater Theater and out East before they finish preparing for the invasion of the Americas."

With that he stood up, clearly eager to end things there for whatever reason. Either because he wanted to lock in the deal, or because he might have leaked a little bit more of his true feelings than intended. There lingered the possibility it could have all been an act, but somehow Naruto didn't think so.

"The Lt. Col. will show you to your quarters and around our base of operations." He gestured back to Kiari who looked equally relieved with the meeting being over. "All of our resources are at your disposal for this mission, and we can provide you with the gathered intelligence upon your request. Pease do not hesitate to ask for anything."

It took a while for him to realize what had happened after leaving the small office, mind geared on his military duties and compartmentalizing everything else during the interim between there and their new quarters.

In fact, it wasn't until the heavy fist cracked him upside the head that he finally caught up with his own words.

"Listen you little shit-stain," The ex-mist shinobi held him up by his blond hair which was now far past regulation-length, forcing his watery blue eyes to meet with those coldly smoldering lumps of coal. "don't you _ever_ speak out of turn again. And if you contradict me? Well, there won't be much left of you for the MP's to bring to trial."

The threats had long since become a weird kind of normal, kind of like sleeping in mud and eating bugs and feeling someone's life flicker out with your bare hands. So he reflected back the elder ninja's gaze with an empty tranquility, impatiently waiting for the man to either make good on his threat or let him go. In a way, he wished for the prior, so he wouldn't be forced to go back to fighting once again.

"Good." If anything, that passive defiance was oddly pleasing to the mass-murdering swordsman, and there was a predatory smirk in the side of his mouth. "I like that look."

Then a foot shot into his stomach, slamming him against the wall with an audible crack. Peeling off the shattered mudbrick and onto the floor, he doubled over for air and watched the gigantic tabi-boots walk off soundlessly. He continued choking for breath until a soft hand came to rest lightly on his back, a warmth flowing through it and inflating his lungs just enough that he could do the rest.

"There, it's going to be alright."

"No-" He gasped. "No, It's not. Things are-" Sucking in another desperate breath. "-never going to be alright. Bastard!" A wracking cough overtook him and he hacked up a gob of iron-tasting mucus into his mouth, spitting the bloody wad in the direction his commanding officer walked off.

"Are you alright?"

"No." He shook his head dismally.

"But you will be."

His body would heal, there was never any question of that. Within a few hours, that miraculous healing factor would make the bruise disappear, and the only sign of any violence left in the human-shaped scar on the wall and size 29 boot-print on his chest.

But would he be alright? He tried to be, ever since he was spared the rope and given another shot several months ago. Tried to be the cheerful self he remembered from childhood because he knew no one else would. Tenten wasn't around, that was for sure. He carried on for her, not knowing if she was alive or dead but guessing the latter. Everyone around him died sooner or later. There was justice at least in that.

"You're going to be alright, Naruto." Haku reiterated, lifting his chin with his impossibly soft finger, calluses confined to the small grooves between joints. "Things will turn out fine. You'll see."

"Naruto, look at me." He stopped averting his eyes, allowing the equally soft gaze to caress his wounded spirit. "For now we must fight. I understand how hard this is on you, and do not believe for a second that it isn't for any one of us. Some merely pretend, keep a straight face on for the rest. Some like Zabuza-sama thrive in the season of death, but dread life for fear that they will melt under the light of the sun.

"You must wait for that sun, Naruto-kun. Peace constantly comes, seasons forever change, and snows will always melt."

When that time came, though, would his heart still be left unfrozen?

* * *

 **So lots of info packed into this one, but nothing a short jaunt to Wiki won't illuminate. No OC's (per se), all names mentioned here are actually real people, just might have changed their job descriptions somewhat.**

 **Because yeah, shinobi are still going to be tough a sneaky, and in a modern city as chaotic as Calcutta or Bombay? Shit, they'd just disappear with the greatest of ease. So the Allies are beginning to work on 'devices' to detect shinobi. This isn't out of the realm of possibility, as the UK was one of the- if not THE leader in Radar back in WWII. Not to mention project ULTRA, Bletchy Park, etc. Lots of hush-hush science stuff was done in direct relation to the war effort. So this is just an invention of mine to level the playing field.**

 **Siddhartha Gautama was the first Buddha, and a mochi-cake for anyone who know who Bose is talking about. No, it's not a character, but a real person. Debating about whether or not I'll have him show up in this, might be neat, but a little presumptuous. Meh, I'm probably going to hell anyway…**

 **And Japan is prepping for a Western invasion?! Will North America fall under the might of the Shinobi, or have they awakened a sleeping dragon?**


	5. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

**Yup, it's been a while, and it's going to be a long time again before another chapter is posted. But let it be known that I do not give up. I don't care how many followers this story has, because it's my personal project. It helps me wrap my mind around other things by giving me a totally different outlet than my other stories.**

 **That being said, constructive criticism might help me get more chapters out. *Hint, Hint*  
**

 **But not for six weeks, because I will be all but disconnected from the internet.**

 **Until we meet again in the Bardo...**

* * *

 _March 3_ _rd_ _, 1943_

 _Aleutian Islands, Far-West Alaska 0900 Hours_

Fate was a funny thing.

They were all bound by it, just as he was bound by the permanent mark on his forehead. Bound too, by the Chrysanthemum incised in a metal plate, currently hiding said mark. Beholden to both, unequally. Were there ranks of fate, just as there were ranks in the military, a hierarchy amongst gods?

Maybe there were multiple paths of fate with more than one destination. One had the illusion of free will, could make certain decisions within that larger destiny. But like walking around on deck of a ship that was headed where its compass points, nothing you did really mattered much. You were still headed to the same port no matter what, with no shore-leave to bail you out once it started.

Which wayward vehicle of destiny was trying to capsize him now? Bringing the lot of them to this godforsaken hunk of ice.

Fate was funny, but the current predicament wasn't looking so amusing to Hyῡga Neji as he stared out at endless tundra whiter than his eyes. The path less-traveled looking more and more unreasonable the closer they approached to shore.

The ship rocked, and a fierce gust of wind ripped over the deck, nearly casting him overboard if not for the chakra he sent to his feet through the thick, winter-lined boots. Not that they, or the water-proof oil-cloth he had draped around him did much good against the biting cold or frigid ocean spray.

Hell had frozen over, he was sure of it. And with it, perhaps fate had finally failed. They were likely already dead, floating along in this damned vessel, never to reach the shore that lingered at the edge of his vision, and never to be warm again. An eternal purgatory for the sins committed by their forefathers.

"Any signs yet, Hyῡga-chūi?"

Adding to this sense of timelessness was the same question reiterated over and over again for the past few hours, every ten minutes on the dot when his commander would leave the protected confines of the bridge to pester him.

"Negative, Uchiha-daisa." The one concession being he could blame the cold for his curt tone, which otherwise would have earned him a trip to the brig.

At least then he'd be out of this weather.

"Hm. I'm beginning to doubt that the Yankees are even going to bother sending troops all the way up here." _Captain_ Uchiha Sasuke of the Special Naval Landing Commandos pontificated whilst sipping at his mug of coffee- while putrid and bitter, was at least something warm to drink. "Or perhaps I should get you an assistant spotter, in case you're getting worn out and missed something."

Looking out to sea, Neji was able to roll his eyes without reprimand. He was the only Hyῡga assigned to their vessel. And out of the branch-family members seeing active combat, his sight with the Byakugan was second to none. It was much more likely the Americans had already abandoned this thankless turf in favor of protecting the mainland. Leaving them to this wild goose-chase where they'd waste untold time and resources turning over every snowflake.

Needless to say, he couldn't voice this opinion to his _superior_ officer.

Yet another practical joke of fate which had him subordinate to not only their clan's mortal rivals, but right-hand to the youngest and most arrogant of the lot. Neji bristled as he gripped the rails, metal groaning under his grip just as the hull did against the battering waves. The pain from cold like needles invading his hands through the gloves helping him to remain calm and composed.

"Sir, I would stake my life on their being nothing on these minor islands. I doubt we'll encounter much resistance until we approach the larger settlements, and only then perhaps the Canadians once we push far enough South."

Though he had to admit, it was disturbing just how little activity there'd been thus far on their voyage. During the first few months of the war with America, there'd been bitter fighting for just a few square meters of land called Attu, the weather proving as fearsome as Meryl's Marauders and the Allied expeditionary force. With that bastion of resistance flattened by what remained of the ninjas from the Land of Snow, now the frozen landscape was as quiet as the grave- apart from the angry ghosts howling at them from the air.

"Hm, you may be right." The dark-haired youth muttered as he buried his nose further into the dog-fur lined coat as another unsatisfied spirit attacked their deck. "But it's not your life I'm concerned about. I have to consider the whole fleet."

Even frowning from the words as cold as the environment, Neji nodded in understanding. Arrogance aside, Sasuke was a without a doubt a military genius much like himself, and shared the same sense of duty. Fate undoubtedly had something to do with the fact that he was stuck as an NCO while his junior in years was superior in rank.

No sense taking it personally though. The Uchiha clan as a whole faired better than the Hyῡga after the takeover. Some suspected treachery and collusion before the war, but all that was lost under the new regime who wanted to maintain strict order over their newest principalities. History, after all, was written by the victors.

The strong live and the weak die. Fate was nothing but fair. If it always had him playing second fiddle, who was he to complain?

As long as it someday got him out of the cold, alive, he was oddly okay with that.

"Neji-san…"

Only when he realized that it was not the white-noise of wind playing tricks on him, and instead the oddly conservative voice of his commander, did he finally turn around to see his fellow shinobi still standing there on deck with him.

"Sir?"

"Is it… is it wrong, for me to want there to be fighting?"

The way the question was worded threw Neji for a loop. The lack of rank and decorum was not something he was used to. Was this a trick, to get him to speak treasonously? Was this a request for a professional opinion? Or was it, however unlikely, a plea to a fellow shinobi, a survivor of that lost generation who'd known nothing of the freedom before the Empire.

"Without war, I cannot become stronger. There would be no way for me to prove myself better than by brother." Sasuke grimaced as if noticing the disgusting coffee for the first time since drinking it. "It might be cruel considering that many people will die- have died. But we are shinobi. This is our purpose. In that respect, this war is our greatest windfall in centuries. Not only has it brought the shinobi nations together, but it has provided us an unlimited stage where we can all shine. Where we can take our rightful place as gods amongst these mortals."

Neji let the wind do the talking for him for some time, trying and failing to keep a focus on the horizon.

"I can only speak for us, and then, perhaps, only for myself. It is our fate to conquer these islands." He spoke with finality. "And much more after that. Still, many will die. If this war is truly limitless we have nothing to fear. If, however, the world proves finite, we will soon run out of enemies and be back to fighting amongst ourselves." Pulling his own cape around him as the chill got that much more unbearable. "That too, perhaps, is our fate."

"Hn."

In that simple response it was impossible to interpret his opinion of the answer. But when nothing more was forthcoming and at last he heard the clomp of boots heading back towards the bulkhead, Neji allowed himself to relax from his drawn-up stance inside his cloak.

"I'll send someone to relieve you in a little while." The yell was like a whisper even from a few meters away. "I'd prefer to have you on watch for a little longer."

"Hmph." With a rueful smirk, Neji reactivated his Dōjutsu, giving him nearly 360˚ vision and clarity even in this whiteout.

"Hai, Daisa."

* * *

 _March 3_ _rd_ _, 1943_

 _Calcutta, India 0900 Hours_

"You're my kid, remember?"

He resisted the urge to sneer, knowing that even if the only thing he could see where her two violet eyes glaring out at him, underneath that unflattering garment there was formidable kunoichi and enough weaponry to take out a whole garrison of Tommies.

"Yeah, yeah, Hebi-chan, I know the drill."

Uncaring that they were now in public, he slapped away the hand that was childishly mussing his hair. Everything was still perfectly in character; the rude action was fine for a male child in a Muslim family. He knew she'd get him back for it later, but didn't mind either way. He was going to milk this spoiled-brat role for all it was worth before having to go back to the common rank and file.

This is what he always longed for. The thrill of deception, the promise of making a difference. Sure, it was a difference that would result in the deaths of several hundred enemy soldiers, but at least it wasn't him or his friends.

What few he could claim.

"And I suppose that makes me your older sister."

Shooting the burka-wearing boy a look that was as flat as possible before the expression was forcibly slapped off Naruto's face by one of Anko's strikes that were like a viper and faster than the civilians around them could hope to follow.

"Ah! What the hell!" He exclaimed only to receive another slap in the back of the head.

"Quiet. We're in public." She reprimanded, but it was impossible not to feel the smile behind her face-veil.

"Seriously, what the fuck? Why do I get treated like a child and he gets off Scott-free?" Leaning over until that silk mask was caressing his whisker-marks obscured by thick, muddy makeup, she whispered in his ear.

"Because I actually _like_ Haku-chan. And you're just lucky you're the only brat with balls that haven't dropped yet, or else they _never would_ , capiche?"

"Yeah, yeah, stop smothering me, woman."

" _Mother_ dear, maybe you should stop nagging him already? It's about time our young master learned to make his own decisions."

A gentle hand and the right words sufficed where bodily harm did not. There were no more secrets left in this world for the likes of them who had shared everything from meal to bed in the cover of a foxhole. War had spoiled every mystery and made light of every fear. The only thing left now to motivate was the possibility of losing what little you had left.

The person doing the asking also apparently mattered.

" _Yes_." He hissed, seemingly in anger.

But was it truly? Or was it the fear of losing what little respect he'd gained? Anko was like himself: just as they come. There was no shame or pride behind that poisonous stare. He liked her because of it, and he suspected the same. They could neither rise nor fall in the other's estimation because there was nothing there to begin with. They were comrades, they would die for each other, but that was it.

The difference was, he actually cared what Haku thought.

Whatever the dynamic, it worked. Sufficient enough to have them pass for a family, which was why Zabuza assigned them to this task of infiltrating the enemy barracks.

For all their weaknesses, one had to give the _Narakas_ credit. They learned and adapted quickly as a society.

 _Narakas_ , hungry ghosts, those without chakra. Their word for the ones who invaded their lands and assumed their culture.

They were weak, but knew they were weak, and therein lay their strength. What they lacked in individual skill they compensated with numbers, and more than made up with their ingenuity.

Even though shinobi in general had tried to keep a low profile, the powers-that-be thought they were better utilized as a psychological weapon. And that was true enough as well. But once the cat was out of the bag to their existence, it was only a matter of time before the foreign armies caught on and made them a priority target. Just like the fuel depots and manufacturing plants.

And if there was one thing above all else the allies excelled in compared to the Empire, it was dynamic action. The Brass were the same on both sides. Obstinate, clueless. But the troops on the ground quickly learned to sniff out the barest hint of a shinobi within the enemy ranks and stay far away from that confrontation. They adopted a strategy of "Forest Clearing", leveling the countryside with bombs dropped from planes and heavy artillery so that their troops never had to engage directly.

It was a costly strategy, but with America's backing they could afford it.

The Empire couldn't. Not at first. Not until they had conquered the rest of Manchuria and its strategic resources. For that, they continued to rely upon the shinobi in their numbers. For even if the allies thought they could clear-cut the jungles and wipe them out, they couldn't do the same thing in populated areas- not without earning the animosity of the locals.

And where there were people, there were places to hide.

Pulling off sharply from the crowded street and nearly getting run over by an irate tuk-tuk driver, Haku stopped at one of the many stalls lined up in the early morning market. Dutifully glancing over the rest of the wares, he settled on the one thing which had drawn his eye and scooped the blue bolt of fabric into his two dainty hands, admiring the softness of gossamer silk.

"Something catch your eye?" Following like a wraith, Anko sidled up to the young man and interjected with a Punjabi whose flawed accent wouldn't be sussed out in this part of the country. "You know that we didn't come here to window shop. We're here for Ali's clothes, not yours."

With perfectly feigned distraction, Haku turned to them so his porcelain beauty caught the full effect of the sun filtering through the moth-eaten overhang. His looks were the only ones untampered with, because even though they were uncommon in this part of the world they were all the more coveted for it. And as a result, a perfect distraction.

"Oh, yes, of course, mother." He bowed to the salesman who didn't seem to mind having Muslim customers before Anko showed up and ushered the beauty away.

"I apologize for my sister." With no sincerity and more force than was necessary, Naruto all but dragged Haku from the grumbling merchant.

This was all part of the act, and the reason they were so successful at this. Every mission that their band of misfits had survived fostered their camaraderie. One more feather in the cap flaunting their survival.

And within their squad of two dozen or so (the numbers varied so often with the casualty/ replacement rate that a total hardly mattered), the three of them seemed most compatible. Not merely with techniques (for the unification made jutsu like weapons to be doled out), but mindset. A rapport which did not go beyond a well-oiled professionalism.

It was easier to keep it like this. Too many of them came and went so quickly that it was simply better not to get attached.

But so far, they had survived, and that could be chalked up to their credible badinage.

Henge could only get one so far. An illusion- and a basic one at that. Any good artist can paint a beautiful picture with a crayon, but only of the things they already know. It's useless trying to recreate a setting you've never been to or a face you've never seen as it will always fall short of reality.

More than that, the E-Rank technique was falling even farther than normal these days. Someone within the allies had figured out that it was merely an illusion, and had the routine patrols frisking anyone looking too suspicious. One touch on a body part that didn't exist, and the gig was up.

So, it was back to basics. And never did that make him feel more giddy. Sure, what Chakra could do was amazing. But what was even more incredible was the ability to fool the human eye with but sleight of hand and a little misdirection.

Then there was the risk. The thrill of being caught so much more poignant when one knew that they put everything on the line. Torture might have been banned in this era of so-called 'gentlemanly warfare', but those rules did not apply to those not wearing a recognized uniform. And there was no delusion about what awaited them should they be captured. Rules or no, they would disappear into a black box to be picked apart piece by piece as soon as possible, those hungry ghosts after their souls.

If, that is, your own comrades didn't get to you first. Which usually resulted in a much more preferable euthanizing.

All this contributed to the lofty 'high', the euphoria of not having any distractions. Every moment without a mission was a constant struggle not to think. For to think was to remember everything they had done on the previous mission, every friend they'd lost, every person they'd killed, every sin they'd committed.

Not so when the blood was pumping, the air was thick, and the sweat from the sweltering day licked at the oil-thin defense between you and certain failure. One second you were pretending to be calm, civil, without a care in the world… all the while underneath your senses were strained to the limits like a furious guitarist plucking away at his instrument during an intricate love-ballad in a recital that should have ended hours ago but didn't because the crowd was still there, still waiting on baited breath for what came next and the fact was that you really didn't know what came next and were just faking it until the next note popped up in your head and made its way electrically down to your fingers which were jittering away like spiders picking their way over to a fly caught in the web and squealing for lack of understanding of what was going on until the only thing they knew was the feeling of something sharp sinking past defenses into soft, wet gushing fluid, spurting, filling, lifeblood rushing through the nose to taste every scent every breath of life that danced furious tangos across the heart beating through the chest ripping, tearing, screaming, NO!- Silence, there must be silence in the night, blackness hiding sin hiding face, the knife lurking underneath garb-like skin peeling off to reveal- to reveal…

"Hey-" The sharp kick to his ankle going unnoticed by everyone else out for their morning groceries spurred him from his waking trance. The faces of people going back to normal, that is to say mushy and brown. He couldn't think of them as people, after all. "You awake?"

He gave Anko a curt but serious nod. She could have been a lot harder with the kick. She gave him a look in return. Just a look, because that's all he could see anyways behind the all-obscuring garment. It was enough to tell him what she wanted him to know.

It wasn't concern, because there'd have to be care in the first place. It wasn't disappointment. Anko didn't think anything of him so there was no bar to raise or lower. It wasn't fear, because if she was in the least bit concerned about his ability to uphold his part, he'd already be dead.

"Let's just get this over with."

* * *

 _March 3_ _rd_ _, 1943_

 _Aleutian Islands, Umnak Island, Fox Chain, 1113 Hours_

The gunshots were crisp as his footsteps over the permafrost. Tapping a rhythm which reminded him almost the sōzu in his family's garden he had listened to every day for the first twelve years of his life. The almost triangular mountain rising up in the background like the glimpse of Fuji-yama he had seen only once on the long voyage to this remote part of the world.

It was all… perfect.

Like his strikes, which snuck upon the ensconced GI's before they could even comprehend what was going on. Ending their lives in the same numbness they had no doubt been subject to for days on end. Ice cloaking their defensive position perfectly, now swaddling their cold corpses in a blanket of snow.

Their camouflage was perfect, but nothing could hide from his eyes.

Clinging to the ground, he hid in the gentle folds of the landscape. Flowing over ground like water, like the crisp, clear noise carrying over the hilltops. Cries of surprise, dismay, hopelessness when the defenders realized they were up against a force made not of men, but wraiths.

If these hapless soldiers were nothing but hungry ghosts, what did that make them? What was it they were fighting for again?

" _ **Katon! Gōkakyῡ no Jutsu!"**_

Neji paused and sighed as the perfect whiteness was marred by a grand flame rising up over the pass. The screams now those of pain, agony compressed within scant seconds of remaining of life. Already dead men set ablaze and throwing themselves out of their trenches, hoping to quench the insatiable flames.

Such brutishness.

Was it really any different, though?

The crack came moments after his head whipped to the side, dodging the projectile by scarcely a hair's width. The near-molten lead kindly caressing his cheek, rosy from the unabashed coldness. In the next instant it was pressed back against the snow, his body laying flat with the curve of the earth.

Pain, burning, so cold the snow was burning his face. He grinned where no one could see, the only kind of joy he would every allow.

He hadn't seen the sniper with his normal vision. It would be child's play to pick him out with the Byakugan, but then where would be the satisfaction? The challenge?

That grin turned into a rueful smirk in response to another explosion in the distance. The challenge was beating his commander to the punch. Why'd he always have to go and ruin such a perfect thing?

Sucking down a deep breath before he threw himself over the berm, savoring that moment of perfect numbness.

If only it could last forever, like the snow did.

* * *

 _March 3_ _rd_ _, 1943_

 _Calcutta, India 1144 Hours_

The wait was almost over.

After requisitioning the school and its grounds for their barracks, the bedraggled remains of the 14th army had policed the surrounding area and relocated the adjacent market a few streets over, for security measures. Unable to clear all the houses within a two-block radius as would have been the Allied command's preference, they were forced to run extra patrols using their already combat-weary forces. Putting strain not only on themselves, but on the civilian populace who resented their presence, not to mention the constant policing of their home.

The tension was palpable, as thick as the humidity which spelled a seasonal storm.

This made things both easier and more difficult. Easier in the sense that it was a simple matter to hide amongst such undisguised animosity. Harder in the sense that the attitude had the Military Police patrols on edge all hours of the day, and especially trigger-happy.

Everyone was just waiting for things to boil over. For that last step over the edge which sent the whole body of India into a purge to rid itself of the foreign disease.

So far, the Allies had managed to convince the host that they were meant to be there. A vaccine of sorts, keeping the immune system's defenses on alert while not disturbing the basic functions. As such, they could not afford to intrude too much into the affairs of daily life in such a bustling metropolitan community.

Every day at around noon was when the lunch crowds would flood out into the streets. Busy trying to get here and there, run errands during their little free time or grabbing a quick bite to eat. Or perhaps extra energy from one of the numerous carts selling spicy and piping-hot chai, turned out solely for this hour-long period and parking themselves bumper-to-sandal along the entire thoroughfare.

It was the perfect opportunity.

Not even the paranoid officers could keep their troops cramped up for days on end in the un-airconditioned buildings, and had to allow them time enough to run out and spend their military script with the vendors all climbing over one another to make a sale. The front gates to the once-school, a writhing mass of bodies trying to get to and froe.

No one noticed when a few extra soldiers returned from the gates amidst the shoving horde.

Careful not to get jostled by rowdy and antsy troopers, the three quickly ducked into a latrine. A generous name for something that was essentially a hole in the ground with a board over it. Fecal matter not actually going anywhere and remaining as a feast for the horse-flies as large as a thumb. Horrid and an undisguised health-hazard, they wouldn't be there long enough for it to matter. The point was that no one would voluntarily go in there for any longer than necessary to take care of business, thus minimizing their chances of being discovered.

With Naruto and Haku guarding the entrance, Anko was left to extract and distribute the prepared explosives.

Keeping most of his attention on the door-less opening, Naruto still had to raise an eyebrow as the older woman flamboyantly ripped off her humble garments, tossing them carelessly on the unsanitary brick floor and revealing a second 'dress' made up of nothing but layers upon layers of explosive notes plastered over her voluptuous body.

He said nothing. It was nothing they hadn't all seen before, and they would not need their disguises after this.

"Ready?" She grinned wickedly, handing each of them a long ribbon which they affected similarly.

No one would raise an eyebrow at three soldiers quickly hurrying out of the latrine.

* * *

 _March 3_ _rd_ _, 1943_

 _Calcutta, India, 14_ _th_ _Army HQ 1223 Hours_

Getting out was the easy part. Sort of.

Shifting from soldiers to civilians in plain sight was a risky endeavor. And any slight jostle would dispel the illusion in a cloud of smoke, making them a beacon for the sentries posted in every eighth window overlooking the street. Three water-cooled machine guns facing this direction alone, and one could not count on the presence of civilians to stay their hand.

Not that they could blame them.

But the need for subtly was over, and they could outrun even the most experienced marksmen, disseminating themselves within the city and disappearing amidst the populace within seconds. There would be no way for the Tommies to find them then.

For now, they plodded along as they always had, no indication that anything was different than this morning. Naruto was even perusing the food vendors with mild interest, toying with the idea of snagging a few samosas before heading back. Not even so much out of hunger which was repressed with the adrenaline, but as a private snub to the unaware enemy who were sitting arrogant and secure. Perhaps out of boredom.

Privately, he even hoped they got found out. Things had been too easy, and it was all over too quickly for his liking.

"Hey, you there, stop!"

Barely restraining the grin on his darkened face, he turned along with the rest of them in a natural interest to the commotion. Tin-hat soldiers busily shoving aside confused pedestrians and vendors in their single-minded jihad to get through.

"Well, that was fast." He could feel Anko's grin under the Henge, mimicking his own. "Should we reward them for their perceptiveness?"

Haku was the only one remaining truly in control of his emotions and not merely mimicking the look. Hawk eyes shifting from the three soldiers pushing their way through the tide, to the lookouts now noticing something was going on down below.

"Something is wrong." They had caught on _far_ too quickly.

"Not to worry your pretty little head, Haku-chan." Anko lilted, drawing hands up underneath the veil of her hallucinatory dress. "We're about to be the least of their concern."

" _ **Kai!"**_

At first, nothing happened.

Then, it was over all too quickly.

" _Kuso!_ "

Where there should have been a grand explosion, a column of hot ash, flame and smoke rising up out of the castle-like compound, there was but a hissed curse, three cracks of rifle fire and a heavy wetness draped over him.

There screams were, though.

And a cloud of smoke quickly dissipating from the dispelled illusion, doing nothing to hide the three of them and in fact attracting the attention of scores of gun barrels now tilting towards where they stood stock still.

Stood is perhaps not the best word. Naruto had been forced to his knees by the sudden and unexpected weight, his right leg refusing to work. Haku crouched by him as he tried to lift the boy to his feet. And the body of Anko draped over him in her undergarments, blood from three pinhole punctures in her shoulder, hip and stomach flowing freely onto his lap and into the cobblestone street.

Around them, the angry yelling of militias, the fearful cries of civilians and the inconsolable wails of bereaved kneeling over the other accidental victims of the soldier's indiscriminate fire. More guns trained on them, and even more arriving from every corner. Haku abandoning trying to extract him and instead using his vaunted ice technique to congeal moisture from the muggy air into a protective dome around them.

He cared for none of that. Nor for the pain in his kneecap from where the .303 bullet tore through Anko's hip and lodged in him, shattering cartilage and shoving bone fragments into his muscles.

In that moment, he was no longer in the blood-stained streets of Calcutta, but in that small thatched hut somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Witnessing as someone he did not know took their final breaths.

"Heh… well, shit." Chuckling past the velvet trickle dribbling from the corner of her mouth, whispering in his ear. "This is it, huh?"

There was nothing he could say, no lie that would change the reality.

"Well, you know what to do, don't you?"

Fumbling with one hand around his neck to keep herself upright, the other delving into her loins and withdrawing a final explosive tag. She pressed the blood-stained paper into his limp palm.

The machine-guns opened up then, pelting like rain against Haku's defense. Thunder compared to the silent patter as the boy let loose salvos of senbon needles with pinpoint precision against the assaulters. Halting their every push and diving back seamlessly into his cover each time.

"Hey," She bit his ear, briefly pulling him back into those filthy streets. "You awake?"

Trying to answer, only a pathetic whimper came.

"Oi! Don't go soft on me Gaki-" Her body spasmed against his, hacking up a wad of blood against his back which he could care less about. "Don't you- don't you dare…" She began to slide to the ground, he struggled to keep her upright but found it impossible against the slick fluid coating them both like placenta.

"Heh, now that's… that's the look." Reaching up to pinch his cheeks, the oil paints used to hide his marks long since having been rubbed off. Not knowing why, nor understanding what she was talking about, he let her. Surprised when instead she caressed those whiskers almost tenderly.

"Don't… don't you dare… let me… down…"

Those last few breaths were the only thing he could comprehend clearly. Not the unrelenting stream of bullets tearing through the gaps in Haku's defense, peppering the cobblestones and tossing hot chips into his hair. Not the boy's imploring words urging him to move, petit hand wrapped around his bicep and pulling desperately. Not the clanking treads of a MK II Infantry Tank, aka 'Matilda', negotiating the convoluted streets of the ancient city.

Her chest stilled and head slipped back, eyes going pale and still staring openly at the sky which now looked like it was going to rain.

The world inhaled, stopped breathing.

Exhale, and everything came out in a shower of red.


	6. Killing Time

**I write this in a room which used to be a chapel, in a building which used to be a hospital, in a town which used to be five miles to the East of where it presently resides. Typing away against the flow of wooden benches drenched in three coats of waxy blue paint, and with my back turned on the archaic chalkboard covered in scrawled words and diagrams which would look like gibberish to the other 99% of the population.**

 **Once again, questioning my sanity.**

 **Moved to its present location in 1903 (the unapologetic sign reminding me of this fact every time we take the short jog off HWY 50), the town of New Ruth, NV is a happening place. At least, it is six weeks out of the year, when its population doubles as a horde of unwashed lushes, considerately known as geology students (of which the author is one), and their entourage descend upon the expectant inhabitants and reoccupy the dilapidated building which once served as a hospital for the local mine.**

 **The mine- the very reason the town was moved to its present location in the first place- looms over it all like a giant's sandcastle. Its stepped façade hiding a hole in the ground large enough to swallow the whole town in one gulp and start nibbling away at the veritable metropolitan of Ely not five minutes away.**

 **Amongst this all I sit, with my fingers on a computer which is surprisingly new enough to not come equipped with a floppy-drive, amongst the peeling paint which I'm fairly certain is lead-based, and the too-cheery sign to my back asking me if I "thought to pray".**

 **Seems a little late for that now.**

 **This is my burden, however, and I just wished to introduce my readers to a little slice of the life I have both inherited and chosen. Just letting you know that a real person exists behind this often dispassionate screen. One which you probably didn't expect and can't really imagine even if I describe it to you. That is why we read though, isn't it? To live vicariously in a world so far removed from our own that we can scarcely understand it.**

 **At the moment, both figuratively and literally, I seem to be living in such a place.**

* * *

 _December 28_ _th_ _, 1938_

 _Shinobi Academy, Konohagakure no Sato, 1300 hours_

"I don't want to talk to you."

Neither the scar on his nose, nor the sight of that mocking red circle like a bullseye flying high over their capital could cut him as deeply as that look of betrayal. Except, maybe that cold shoulder. Which when turned, knocked the wind out of him.

"Please, Naruto, I'm just worried for you. I'm not trying to say that this isn't a great accomplishment…" What _was_ he trying to say exactly? That he was any more mature when graduating to the shinobi corps? Were things really any different now that they were a branch of the Imperial Japanese Army- really, any more dangerous? "I just- I want you to be careful."

"I'm not a child." He growled bitterly, baring his fangs at his once kindhearted teacher.

' _No, you are a demon.'_ Iruka wished to declare in a moment of spite for the juvenile defiance. But what made him the adult was that he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Though if that was the only thing experience taught him, than he was a poor student.

"You are right," Relenting after a few breaths in which to remember his own role. "The moment you put on that headband, you became an adult, a soldier with all the privileges and duties that come with it."

It was the latter that this young soldier- nay young child failed to grasp. It wasn't his fault, and in many ways, it was Iruka's. As a teacher, he should have been able to prepare all his pupils to face the harsh realities of the world they were committing themselves to. Of course, they would never be _fully_ prepared. Yet, could he not have done more? Were his new obligations to the Empire any more important than his obligations to his own moral code? The propaganda served as _pain quotidien_ filled the young minds with the sweetness of a warrior's life. It was his job to supply the nutrition, the knowledge of what they faced and the ability to make healthy choices once they were on their own in the real world.

Yet his hands were tied. The Empire dictated just what could and _could not_ be mentioned in the classroom. It fostered an unquestioning loyalty from the younger generation while fomenting rivalries among the old guard to keep them occupied. Elevating certain disenfranchised groups above others to be their watch dogs for the remotest part of their Empire.

They weren't stupid. The outsiders knew that they could not truly defeat the combined might of a shinobi alliance, nor perhaps even a single village if it came down to it. And they knew that _they_ knew this fact. Once their parlor tricks of technology were revealed, it was only a matter of time before the crafty ninja figured out how to defeat their legions. Shinobi could adapt. They could learn.

But as always, in the end, they were their own worst enemies.

"I just…" The plaintiff voice, not so different than the sound of straining metal of the headband under the boy's fingertips relieved Iruka from his impotent struggles, but not from his regrets. "I just… want _someone_ to be proud of me…"

It was hard to be an orphan. Now, more so than ever. Iruka wasn't sure if Naruto would have been accepted as a hero under the Hokage's administration like the children of their fallen defenders. But now he was nothing. Less than nothing. A clan-less nobody whose unlucky life fell through the cracks, forgotten under the yoke of new rulers.

Well, not _entirely_ forgotten.

Amidst the revelries shared between the other graduates and their families, not-so hidden glares cut a clear no-man's land between them and him. Spiting his very existence along with his place earned amongst them.

They should be grateful to have any allies at all, Iruka thought. You couldn't pick and choose friends in a fox-hole. This was yet another lesson he had failed to pass on.

Where was the camaraderie? Where was the Will of Fire that so inspired generations of Leaf Ninja? It would be a lie to say that the Imperials had taught them to kill. But they had separated that familial bond, made war impersonal. And in doing so, made them murderers.

All things considered, it would have been better had he simply… faded away.

"I _am_ proud of you, Naruto," And the boy would never know how much, because there weren't words to express his dually felt disdain and compassion. Iruka hated Naruto for killing his parents, and loved him because only he could understand that same pain. How could a boy of nine be expected to understand such a thing?

And yet he had to make himself known. Had to inform this youth of misfortune that his troubles weren't over. That they were never over. That they were only just beginning.

He sighed, feeling the weight with him even now.

"Naruto… do you ever wonder why I never talk about my time in the war?" Despite his continued obstinacy, a twitching ear under the close-cropped blonde hair let the teacher know he was listening. Iruka was certain there were many more ears listening as well, and he still had to be careful what he said.

"I figured it was just 'cause you were a loser hiding behind the rear lines!"

Rather than offense, the scarred man smiled bitterly at this childish insult, rubbing his thumb on the old wound across his nose. The only one which _hadn't_ come from the recent conflict.

"When the fighting comes, we all have to serve our part." Wistfully he watched the last of the auburn leaves fall from the tree. "When we win, we share the glory. From the cooks and clerks, to the ones at the tip of the spear."

Giving a huff as he was fed this spiel again, Naruto crossed his arms and prepared to walk away. He was a warrior! A man of action! And his chair-bound sensei was simply jealous of this fact.

"Victory is for all for all of us. We celebrate when we succeed. And when we lose… when we bleed…" Something new, tacked on to the end. Naruto almost didn't recognize it as he almost didn't recognize his mentor's feeble voice. Hardly above a whisper, not in fear of sedition, but in reverent sorrow. "When we burn for our sins… we _all_ burn."

There was no way for him to understand. Nothing for this child to be able to grasp that hatred, so potent and pure that it outstripped the animosity Iruka felt for the demon inside the boy's gut. An unrestrained flame which turned the child into an ally, a brother in blood, a partner in crime. No, there was no way for Naruto to see the flames until they consumed him, too.

"You're a good kid, Naruto." The hand leveled on the boy's shoulder startled him as it did others watching out of the corners of their eyes. Such familiarity was never displayed in public. It no longer mattered to Iruka. "But no matter how good your intentions, no matter how right you believe you are, you will not get out of this unscathed."

"But all my cuts heal! I've never had a scar!" It made the man almost want to chuckle when he saw the boy look between at mutilated body in confusion, comparing them to his fresh, pink palms. Chuckle, and then weep.

"Not all wounds you can see. Just as some cuts are deeper than others, there are flames which burn hotter. So hot, that no one can control them, that they can never be put out. They smolder on forever, until they consume you…"

As if feeling those invisible flames, his hand flinched back. The horrified look in his cadet's eyes reminded him of another's, one long gone. But also, his initial purpose.

"You're a good kid, Naruto." He repeated, hardly aware of where he was let alone his words. "I just… don't lose that. No matter what happens, promise me that you'll continue to be like that, okay? You do that- you do that, and I will forever be proud of my most favorite student."

Where he longed to hold the star-struck boy tight and never let go, squeeze him until the life left both their eyes, instead he gave a sharp salute. The best he could muster at that time and yet one that would have earned him a dozen lashes at the parade ground.

Drying those tears which he refused to let past his watch, Naruto gathered himself up and puffed out his chest, mimicking the gesture.

"I promise I'll make you proud, sensei."

Live, and you'll do just that.

Unable to voice these words, the academy instructor allowed his hand to fall limp against his equally unfeeling legs, letting the young soldier march off purposefully into the setting sun. He did not know where the day had gone, the evening having already crept up on him.

Just like those three shinobi with black armbands which surrounded him silently. Though he was an instructor at the academy, there were many things the young Iruka did not know.

"Umino-san, would you please come with us."

Yet he had lived long enough to know that this was not a question. Just as he had lived long enough to know that he wasn't likely to live much longer. Time had finally come for him, as it had come for his parents, his friends, and someday too, his students whom even now seemed so full of life.

"Sure, why not?"

The flippancy was not noted, not by him anyway. It mattered little, now. The only thing he was remiss about was how he had wasted his previous words, wished he had been more direct with the boy. Grateful only that he would die before his own fires consumed him.

"Let's go."

' _Don't let me down, Naruto.'_

* * *

 _The world was on fire._

 _Or was it just him? His body ablaze as it picked its way on all fours its way across the apocalyptic landscape. Flames like underbrush caressing his belly, stoking his primal desires within the guttural chorus of cries for mercy._

 _Was this the Hell he had heard about? Or the Bardo? Was he awaiting judgement, or had the sentence already been passed, condemned to burn for all eternity for his transgressions?_

 _Craning up to the sky where the smoke was like night and the dancing embers like a field of stars above him. Was this the burning he had been warned about?_

 _How, when there was no pain? In truth, here there was nothing at all. Base desire came from somewhere removed, and he himself was in fact numb to it all. Whatever inferno there had been inside had long since been quenched, and still the fires continued around him. Consuming all he knew, all he had ever known._

 _Where was he? From whence had he come, and why? Where was he going? All these answers were blocked by the sheer wall of flames encircling him._

 _Claustrophobia set in. He wanted out._

 _He was trapped. There was no exit. Fire consuming the oxygen around him, making it impossible to breath, to think._

 _Blackness, a cackling laughter like crackling of a hearth, like the village being razed to the ground…_

* * *

 _March 23_ _rd_ _, 1943_

 _Bidhannagar Provisional Hospital, Calcutta, India, 0811 Hours_

Everything was too much, going from dark to intense light. The air felt so thick he gulped it down like water and was still suffocating. He all but tore off the coarse-woven khadi sheets, heavy with his sweat. Trying to sit up brought a stab of pain through his abdomen, and he collapsed back into the dark sitzmark incised in the straw mattress.

Lying there, he listened to his ragged panting running raw in his throat. The innocent cheeps of morning larks outside oblivious to his nightmarish wanderings.

A clattering of metal- like machinegun fire whipped his head to the side. A dark-skinned girl clad in humble sari stood there under a sandstone arch with her hands clasped to her mouth in shock. A pile of metal utensils lay in a haystack by her feet.

Opening his mouth produced no words, only more shuddering coughs to purge his lunges of fluid.

It was probably for the best, for as he watched the young woman spirit herself away he realized that he could not trust his own words.

There was no memory of when he was human, no vocabulary. Only the language of the birds was around him as he shifted over and shunted a tired arm over his eyes. Absently noting the flaxen bandages covering him from head to toe, equally drenched like the rest of him.

Where was he, anyways? Who, or what was he? Like a phoenix he had awakened from the fire, only a distant memory of what had come before. Only that he was tired, and that emotional void had been filled with nothing but pain.

In the corner of his throbbing mind was the doubled sounds of footsteps hurrying over to him, the nurse returning with the doctor in tow. But it didn't matter.

The flames had already burned him out, and it didn't matter.

* * *

 _May 16_ _th_ _, 1936_

 _Outside Shinobi Academy, Konohagakure no Sato, 1800 hours_

He fought against it, but the shove might as well have been a hurricane to his underdeveloped body. He was going down.

Not without a fight, though.

Against gravity, against the odds, against the three other children who were picking on him because he held no family allegiance, and because they could.

Whether social or physical, all of these forces were equal in his world. Insurmountable, immutable facts which he rebelled against as surely as a compass pointed to magnetic north.

As he pushed himself up, the foot would come to kick his spaghetti arms out from underneath him, as it always had. He would taste the dirt, as he always had.

Later, the blond youth would come to relish this flavor. Head down under fire, the taste of the earth and the cool feeling under his fingertips would remind him that he was still alive, while all the others he had known- including these three, probably were not.

But that would come later, in another lifetime.

"What's the matter? Mr. Dizzy fall down again?" Declared the ringleader. The other two cohorts guffawed as if it were the cleverest insult to reference the Maelstrom in his name and the spiral on his shirt. Maybe it was to the seven and eight-year olds.

Rather than blame the universe for his lot in life, the growl of frustration which eked out of the prone boy's mouth was reserved for nobody but himself. He had to become stronger, he had to evolve.

Running with the spiral theme, he twisted over onto his back and coiled in on himself. Throwing his feet skyward and following after them. There came with it an upwelling of elation as he felt his torso cross the halfway point, and knew that he had done it. The shocked expressions he caught from the corner of his eyes was just icing on the cake.

Though once upright, there was little idea of what he could further do against the three stronger boys. And so it was perhaps just as well that the kick shoved him back down to the ground where he belonged.

But he was not done. That one success bred confidence for another, and above all he knew the one thing he absolutely could not do was stop trying. The moment his back touched the ground, he rolled over his right shoulder and sprung forward at the ringleader who was this time left totally unprepared.

Slamming into the other boy's ankles, he toppled the chubby prepubescent like a tree, bringing the forest down upon him and fighting his way through the bramble. This would be the first time he would claw himself tooth and nail across the dirt- but it would not be the last. It would be the first punch he ever threw in anger, but it certainly would not be the last.

Many more would follow, now as well as years later. Blows falling like the monsoon rain upon that simpering body which could only hold up a feeble defense. Other hands like gnarls would reach out to assist, but he would ignore them too as he let himself be consumed by that singular drive.

In an empty playground, the slap of fists would ring out again and again in a lonely tattoo. Now as before no help was coming. Unlike the other times, however, circumstances were on his side. The other two cohorts would reach out to try and stop him, but he slapped or bit their prying hands away like a rabid animal. He could taste their fear running through their blood.

"That's enough."

Caught by an irrefutable grip, he turned to lash out at the interloper who dared tell him when he was satiated.

Those flat onyx eyes staring back sobered him up immediately, and only then did he realize the terror in the two other children. Only then did he realize that there was no difference between the blood on his knuckles and the blood on the bully's face.

Lifting himself on shaky legs, he allowed himself to be led away whence the other two were swift to extract their ringleader and bid a hasty retreat.

He turned then, from surprise to indignity, and from the bullies to the one who had stopped him.

"What the hell?! Why'd you get in my way? What'd those three bastards mean to someone like you?!"

He recognized the boy from his classes, and recognized the crest from his every waking moment. That fan-shaped emblem had become almost as prevalent as the crimson meatball blotting out the traditional leaf of Konohagakure. Indeed, what would an esteemed member of the Uchiha clan be wanting with the likes of any of them?

This question seemed to be mulled over silently until the dark-haired boy let go of his hand, which he was then holding only limply.

"Nothing." He expressed with a shrug. "Losers don't mean anything to me." The juvenile's gaze turned from aloof to surprisingly cold. "-And neither should they mean anything to you."

Considering who it was coming from, it might have been a threat. The Uchiha's influence spread wide and ran deep throughout the newfound empire. Yet, it sounded like unsolicited advice.

Naruto hated unsolicited advice.

"You're not my brother."

Grumbling, he nursed his bruised knuckles. Cleaning them to realize that the blood wasn't solely the bully's. Reminded of the other three, he glanced over his shoulder warily only to be rewarded by the sight of an older Hyūga boy corralling them like scolded hounds.

"No shit." The dark-haired Uchiha huffed, folding his arms and looking down his nose at the marginally smaller boy. "You're all alone. You're your own keeper."

"What'd you mean by that?" That strangely palpable envy causing him to turn his head back to his classmate.

"I mean you don't have any expectations to live up to. You're free to do what you want." An angry toss of his head indicated towards the three bullies and the boy from the other infamous clan, who shot an opaque glance their way. "Not like _them_. And not like-"

The prepubescent's words petered out, leaving the dirty blond adrift. Recognizing the words, recognizing the tone, even. But somehow not understanding what was being said because of the way the light shone just askance on that moribund afternoon.

"What're you… saying?"

Having realized he'd wasted words, but not truly lost anything, the Uchiha huffed and turned his back on it all.

"Never mind. Just go on being a loser, wasting your life." Wasting his freedom.

"Hey- wait a minute!"

He lunged after the other boy but faltered as his pool of initiative had dried up. He might get away with harming the other clan-less boys, their pride not allowing them to admit they were beaten by a no-name orphan. But an Uchiha? Laying a hand on someone tantamount to royalty would not be overlooked.

Seeming to notice this moment of inception, the Uchiha child looked over his shoulder briefly. Realizing something for himself with that symbol of restraint, he grunted something which could have been an acknowledgement and strode on his way again. Leaving that empty hand grasping nothing but air.

At the edge of the courtyard, Hyūga Neji only needed a sliver of his omnipotent vision for the three reprobates he had caught harassing an underclassman. The rest was devoted to this strange drama being enacted in front of him, himself feeling like am unwitting audience.

It was unclear why he found such interest in this otherwise irksome encounter. An Uchiha, and a Pariah. Both were dichotomies offensive to his morality, and yet he could not look away. Maybe because it was such an unlikely happenstance that fate herself was reaching out to turn his gaze.

Fate, duty. Two things he knew well, and two forces that ruled his life. Fate which brought him here after classes, and duty which made him discipline the childish aggressors, despite the contempt he felt for the orphan and the Uchiha. Was it the same for those two as it was for the three simpering fools in his grip?

The prince and the pauper- and him, whatever he was. Everyone was ruled by death, that white shade casting a blanket over even his all-seeing eyes.

And time, making fools of them all.

* * *

 _March 4_ _th_ _, 1943_

 _Aleutian Islands, 0020 hours_

Always they were hemmed in by something. Controlled by a higher power, or even just a stronger force which existed in their mundane lives.

Here it was the cold, which wrapped around him like a white blanket and smothered his thoughts, shrouding even his quasi-unlimited sight behind a fuzzy haze of semi-consciousness. Still, he trudged on.

How? How could he even move passed the insurmountable fatigue? When even his eyes were blocked, his limbs felt like lead, and his mind was suffocated by the pale shroud.

Yet he was moving. He could feel that much. Body rocking back and forth in that sea of nothingness. From where, and to what, though? This too was lost behind the screen. What happened to that once proud life which found purpose even in subservience?

"You were hit by an artillery shell."

A voice among the thousands howling at him in the wind made itself known. How did it answer his question? Was there a new hole in his skull where the thoughts were spilling out like his mortal spirit?

"Bastards fired on their own troops when they saw they were losing. Leveled the whole base, just hoping to take a few of us with it."

Strange words, words he once knew in a tone he should remember.

"Just hang tight, though. We're not too far from the rally point, and I've bandaged up most of the serious stuff."

He saw Uchiha Sasuke walking away, back turned on him once again. The shock of raven-black hair isolated on that stark white background. Where was the other boy?

"A dream." Neji's voice was hoarse, dry, as if he hadn't spoken in years.

Dissociated lurching as his body moved and his mind stayed put. Sasuke adjusted the load on his back.

"Try not to talk too much. You're losing a lot of fluid, and the wind and cold will dry you out quicker here."

Neji nodded in line with the rhythm of the trudging footsteps.

"Later, then."

Hours, days, another lifetime. Would words never cease to fail him?

* * *

 _April 12_ _th_ _, 1943_

 _Bidhannagar Provisional Hospital, Calcutta, India, 1245 Hours_

The heat had become too oppressive even for the sky, and it divested itself in one great torrent which slammed upon the ancient structure. A curtain of rain enshrouded him beyond those stone windows. Trapping him, even more assuredly than his own thoughts.

Naruto sighed, part in boredom and part in resignation. The sound was nothing over the rain falling like artillery shells.

It was the only sound he'd allow himself. Fearful that anything more would shatter the divine illusion of luck.

How he'd managed this far was a mystery to the normally unfortunate youth. Had they bothered to look underneath the tattered bandages, the native doctors would have been treated to a shade of skin too light for that clime- perfect skin, unburdened by the puckering scars which covered every other body in his ward.

Not to mention the shock of blond hair which bloomed like a patch of elephant grass from his muddled head, a beacon decrying his foreignness to anyone paying the slightest bit of attention.

Yet they'd said nothing. And so had he. Taking that temporary dumbness he'd awoken with and running with it. Hoping that pretending to be mute would absolve him from questions that would be harmful to him- and them. Praying that they would find him harmless.

But he was, _wasn't_ he? There was no desire to intrude upon these innocent lives any more than necessary. It was in fact his mission to assist these western allies in their fight against oppression.

Yet the only oppression he could find was his guilty conscience weighing heavily on his shoulders.

He had failed the ones he had dared called comrades. Anko's pulse had flittered through his grasp like smoke, and the last he'd seen of Haku was that impossibly pristine face with a look that it never should have been forced to bear.

He needed to find out what had happened.

News clippings showing the aftermath had all been in Hindi, and with few pictures. The academy had worked hard to cram the minimum required kanji into his head before graduation, and he had barely passed the literacy requirements. The rest of his foreign language skills were in the colloquial tongue, learned in the field as a matter of necessity and without the written portion. Thus, he was left adrift within an incomplete story, bemoaning his ignorance.

It would have been a total loss if not for the other equally bored patients arguing loudly at all hours of the day regarding this still hot topic, ignoring the child whom they thought dumb. In colorful language he knew all too well, they debated the growing independence movement and what it portended for themselves and their families.

Rather than clarifying things, what he heard only served to make him more confused.

Things were never clear cut. He should have known this, especially after the first time he had deserted. Yet listening to the detached arguments growing in passion was like a reawakening from a dream within that dream, finding out he was always living in a nightmare.

The belief of being liberators, freeing their brown-skinned brothers from the yoke of colonial oppression was shattered. Things hadn't changed since that day. The venue may have been different, the mud huts and slanted eyes replaced by ancient sandstone and earth-tone faces.

But the blood was the same. The blood of innocents was still on his hands.

 _ **Are they truly innocent?**_

At least half the country was still fighting on the side of the Allies, against their brethren and against Naruto's own comrades. When a weapon was staring him in the face, there was no such thing as right and wrong.

 _ **Only life and death exist. This is the only truth.**_

And here, outside the battlefield, right and wrong were even more blurred. The caste system which defined Indian society disgusted him. The squalor and crime prevalent in the cities offended his sensibilities. Unable to even comprehend misogyny, nonetheless the very notion bothered him deeply.

 _ **Why fight for such a corrupt system? Freedom only encourages people to fight more.**_

But who was he to decide? A failure, a murderer, a traitor.

 _ **A survivor. Only those left alive have the right to pass judgement.**_

Was their society truly any better? For the first time he was given a chance to stop and think about his life until that point, the decisions which lead him on this path of sin. Harkening back to his youth, he recalled the propaganda and ideals which were force-fed into his head in the academy. The deluge of white-washed images depicting shinobi as heroes, as protectors.

 _ **Shinobi are killers. Nothing more.**_

Had the Empire really created this? Or was this rosy-hued visage always there? Those feelings, the morals that he clung to, which guided him in every decision, did any of those truly belong to him?

 _ **Evil belongs to you. Man is a plague on the Earth, and one which will correct itself through hellfire only to rise from the ashes and make the same mistakes**_

 _ **over,**_

 _ **and over,**_

 _ **and over again.**_

* * *

Awakening in a pool of cold sweat despite the sweltering heat outside, he would have to bite his tongue to keep from crying out and rousing the whole ward. Too many times he had collapsed against his buckwheat pillow and shivered in fear of closing his eyes.

The voice in his head called him evil, so maybe he deserved this. Maybe this was his punishment. In the best case, it was his guilty conscience reminding him that he did have some sliver of humanity buried deep down in there. A sense of wrongness reminding him that he could still tell the difference.

And then there was the good, what little of that might have existed in this living hell they called war.

It existed in the little things, and in defiance of that suffering. It was in the way life existed around the disturbances.

Outside his confines, markets blossoming around the spines of bayonets and barbed wire, kaleidoscopes of color scraped up from every curb and put on display rain or shine. Laughs of children as they transmuted scrapped inner tubing into a sporting game. Even the once-proud sandstone arches which perched just above his head, faded and worn, but with the marks of a thousand happy times over the last centuries etched into their coarseness.

These were the things he tried to tell himself. And for a while, it was difficult, if not impossible. It was all too easy to remind himself that this self-talk was his selfishness, life lying its tongue into knots so as to keep on living a little longer.

It was all he could do to hole himself up in this cloister while the rest of the world burned outside. Not really a life at all.

One day, something changed. An event to break this waking nightmare which plagued him.

At first, the old man who came to visit reminded him of the one he once called 'Jiji', with all the kindness and gravitas trailing him like most old people trailed a funny stench. This one was slim, though. Willowy, and without the purposefulness that he had come to expect. In its place was a total relaxation, an unhurriedness that would surpass even death. He was bald, too, with a pair of round glasses perched above his bushy moustache and a knowing smile which threatened to eclipse even that.

Really, the more Naruto looked at him, the more he wondered why he had made the comparison in the first place. When the man came up to him and spoke in a clear, crisp Hindi, the last remaining vestiges of familiarity were lost.

And a new acquaintance was born.

The visit wasn't long, nor was his unique. The old man was careful and patient enough to see each resident before departing. Everyone appeared to know him, respect universal even behind the sharp eyes of disapproval. It was obvious that not everyone agreed with what the man represented, but they had enough decorum not to say it while he read to them passages out of an old tome.

Having never had anyone read to him as a child, the feeling Naruto faced couldn't quite be called nostalgia. It did not change the fact that he was enraptured by those archaic words spoken in a foreign tongue. Barely understanding them, yet being touched by their profundity.

 _You grieve for those who should not be grieved for; yet you speak wise words. Neither for the dead nor for those not dead do the wise grieve. Never was there a time when I did not exist nor you nor these lords of men. Neither will there be a time when we shall not exist; we all exist from now on. As the soul experiences in this body childhood, youth and old age, so also it acquires another body;_

 _The sage in this is not deluded._

 _O Keśava, it is easier to control the wind than to try and control the fickle, unsettling, dominant and stubborn mind._

 _Kill therefore with the sword of wisdom the doubt born of ignorance that lies in thy heart. Be one in self-harmony, and arise, great warrior, arise!_

With the disillusion he felt, sanguine verses also should have lost their meaning for him. Or, at the very least, he should have been more skeptical and jaded. The voice in his head would call him a fool.

Regardless, it did nothing to stop it from affecting him profoundly, the words echoing what he felt inside. Even if it those feelings were based on lies, it proved that despite all their arguments, despite all their differences, despite all that has come between them,

People were the same. Another truth that surpassed language and borders.

Before departing, the old man would lay a hand upon his wrist and squeeze gently. It would be no different than Zabuza's tight grip in a spar. In that moment, he would be stopped from doing something foolish.

Looking back on it now, even the rain could not dampen his passion. It was still unclear what path lay ahead for him, if he should try to return to his squad of misfits or wander the scarred Earth, free of mortal bonds. What was clear was that he could no longer stay in this sequestered world, this land of memories and dreams, shut up from the realities he had helped come to pass.

The hand which would never be clean of the blood stained upon it patted the book the old man bequeathed to him. He let out a noise which broke the silence.

It was time to move on.

* * *

 **Hey y'all, I'm back from my six weeks in the wilderness, alive and barely functioning. I actually wrote the majority of this chapter along with several others while I was myself holed up in an ancient structure (the introduction gives more details). Anyway, just wanted to let you know I should be more active in the coming days and weeks, until schools tarts up again that is.**

 **And just in case no one caught it (all four or five of you), the old man at the end of this chapter is Mahatma Gandhi, and the text he is reading from is the Bhagavad Gita which will continue to play a role in this story. This is the same text which Robert Oppenheimer is famous for quoting regarding the development of the nuclear bomb aka: "I have become death, destroyer of worlds". Which is a bit of a misinterpretation, but that's another story.**

 **Gandhi was very involved in Indian politics during this time period, and was a staunch proponent of the independence movement. But as we all know, was firmly opposed to violent actions, and so came to odds with some of the independence leadership. I don't really presume to know how he would react to the knowledge of ninja showing up in his world, nor do I wish to make this story into any sort of political statement. I'm just tossing in a bit of historical trivia as a plot device, and I doubt he will show up again.**

 **And to reiterate (or in case I really did forget to mention), in no way do I intend this to be a racist work. I am simply trying to emulate the mindset of the period, along with the very abstract position of the Naruto universe contrasting with the 1930's and 1940's. Every society has their problems, and I both admire and abhor certain aspects of each one. The continuing theme in this work and my own life is that we should constantly be working to improve ourselves. No matter who you are or where you come from, as a global society we all need to do better.**

 **Or go extinct. I'm kinda okay with this option too.**


	7. Strange Bedfellows

**Here's another chapter I actually managed to write while away. I'm really wondering if I went bonkers somewhere along the line back there. Oh well.  
**

 **Ya crazy buggers are all welcome to join me in this descent into insanity.**

* * *

 _April 13_ _th_ _, 1943_

 _Bidhannagar Provisional Hospital, Calcutta, India, 0100 Hours_

He waited until night, when all the patients had gone to sleep, and the exhausted medical staff was whittled down to two night-nurses for all the dozens scattered throughout the former temple. The maze-like nature of the indigenous architecture was another boon to his escape, and he had carved the twists and turns into his mind like the intricate stelae still decorating the walls.

No one was watching the wardrobe, nor the kitchen. And why would they be? This wasn't a military hospital, nor even probably sanctioned by the local government. Yet this did not stop him from exercising the utmost caution as he swiped a second-hand shalwar kameez and a drawstring bag, stuffing it with foodstuffs that would last him a goodly portion of his journey.

Part of his shinobi training had been the advanced Escape and Evasion course approved and adopted by the IJA. Those hard-won instincts were not easily forgotten. It was almost more nerve-wracking having no sentries on the walls, for it simply felt like he wasn't seeing them. He hugged the shadow from the anachronistic battlements, careful not to silhouette himself in the waxing moon lest some sleepless bystander spy him.

There was always a chance for something like that to happen. There was always a chance for something to go wrong.

Thus he held his breath the entire time it took him to dart across the courtyard, scale the walls and throw himself into the dense jungle beyond: exactly 32 seconds. No alarms were raised, not a whisper at his back as the ferns shut behind him like a curtain.

The abrupt change came as a surprise. The forestry was so dense and dark it was like swimming in the Pacific Ocean. It deafened all noise, save his ragged breaths which he scarcely noticed and the non-existent footsteps as his bare feet skated over the mud.

He was free. The air was dense and stale, but it was rife with the fecundity which he allowed to fill his lungs and fuel himself onwards. The too-large garments billowed like a cape around him as the leaves whipped his rosy cheeks, reminding himself that this was not a dream.

This was not a dream.

Each passing moment would be relegated to memory, but he only cared for the next. There was no script for him to follow, so anything he wrote from now on would be all his own.

He slowed his pace until it became a stagger, grass and clinging soil seeping between his bare-footed toes.

Why did this thought scare him so? What did he have to fear from freedom?

Duty was not a foreign concept. Responsibility, a given in the service to one's country. It was the diet he'd been raised on for his entire life, the ideal he was taught to aspire to. It was what made him feel lost when he'd disobeyed orders, made him feel wrong for sticking up when he knew was right.

The first time he ran away there had been no prior thoughts as to what he would do next. And he hadn't gone far, right back into the waiting arms of regiment and order. His rebellion ended before it even began. A part of him had wanted the military police to catch up and exact his punishment because that's what he'd conditioned himself to desire.

Now he didn't know what to think. No one to tell him what to do, where to go. There were no regulations he could fall behind, nor comrades to help prop him up.

And what would they think of all this? His comrades, his brothers and sisters in arms. Were they also trapped by that same spell, or had he been the only one still believing in fairytales?

He did not presume to know. Zabuza and his subordinates were the exact opposite of predictability. They were a travesty of a military unit, a perverse mockery of a family and the epitome of dysfunction. And they would likely deny even this when it came to a military court.

In short, they were like him. Human. Not robots programmed to follow orders, and not listless _Narakas_ wandering the human realm looking for purpose. They had already found that in one another.

That being said, what did they mean to him, now?

Clutching his heart in that forest of the night, surrounded suddenly by a cacophony of wildlife chirping, buzzing, howling and growling a symphony to ease his loneliness. All the chorus in the world would do no good, as he realized that this empty space could only be filled with people. But the thought of returning to his familiars was even more fearsome than the realization that his actions were now solely his own.

It was the unknown which was scariest. He realized for the first time that he knew nothing about them, knew nothing even about himself beyond his abilities in combat and his desire to never be forgotten.

Naruto didn't understand a lot of things about life, about love, and even the things he'd preached for years such as duty and honor. But he was learning. As surely as that illegible book weighed heavily in his homemade _meshok_ , he would someday learn to read it. Someday he would understand these things, if he lived long enough.

To this end, he knew that he needed to find shelter. However long he had been running and pondering had allowed the sun to light the sky between macramé gaps in the jungle canopy, turning it a pale gray. The sounds of wildlife had dulled somewhat, as the nocturnal revelers deferred to the dutiful morn.

He would sleep during the day and travel by night. Holing himself up in a cavern formed under the massive and twisted roots of a tree that was probably older than the third Hōkage, and pulling a scrim of leaves in front of his hideaway in case anyone happened to tread this part of the woods. There hadn't been any time in his flight to check the area for signs of usage, and he wasn't taking any chances.

It was a good thing too, as just when he began to drift off to sleep did the gay cries of children beyond the fields pierce the semi-tranquility with their shrillness.

He paid them no mind, pulling the voluminous garment around him like a sheet and curling further into his crevice. They would not notice him.

No, what disturbed him was not on the outside, but within. And to that end, he ventured into the realm of dreams to confront his nightmares face to face.

* * *

 _April 13th, 1943_

 _IJN vessel Satsuma, western Aleutian Islands, 0400 hours_

It was already starting to get light out. Unsurprising, though a little bit off-balancing if he were to be honest. Certainly not a benefit for people of their profession, who thrived under the cover of darkness. What would it be like in a few months when the sun would just bob underneath the near horizon and the sky would stay lit throughout the night? Hopefully he wouldn't be here long enough to find out.

Although, as long as he was held up in bed with his right leg clad in a stiff plaster cast, he would be unable to have much say in his travelling plans. Perhaps they could get one of their own medics to check him out soon, but that too was probably wishful thinking.

In the meantime, he was hostage to the whims of the ship he was on. Not to mention his commanding officer, who even now was informing him of yet more news that made him wish he wasn't bedridden.

"So, that's the official verdict?"Neji asked, probing for an alternative that he suspected wasn't coming.

"That's what's _happening_." Sasuke emphasized, no more pleased than his subordinate if the sleepless scowl was any indication. "For now, we have no choice but to abide by orders. As competent as we may be, it's not like we can take on the entire US military by ourselves."

"What about the others?" Cast or no, he was willing to keep fighting if there was someone by his side. They were already at the end of the Earth. What could it hurt to push more?

" **What** others?" His grim snort echoed in the emptiness of his coffee cup as he raised it to his lips. Neji mused on how long the other shinobi had been nursing this one mug, as he rarely saw the Uchiha without one these days. The object a veritable totem of the bitter and dark youth. "In case you haven't noticed, our people are spread pretty thin."

Neji glared at the other, uncaring for propriety. Of course he noticed. The diaspora of their 30,000 shinobi had been scattered to every front, lost among a population of near 30 million. A large number were sent to the most remote regions of the war because they could survive where normal rank and file couldn't. And because one of them was worth a platoon of Chakra-less soldiers. It was insidious because it made sense.

"What about communications?"

"As usual. Seldom at best, and even short-range ship-to-ship is spotty right now." The weather had taken a turn for the worse, which was probably why the US forces pulled back so rapidly in the first place. The Western powers always did have better meteorological data than they did. "Not that there are any shinobi anywhere near us. Most are probably scattered throughout China and on the border with Russia. With rumors of the US coming to the table for negotiations, Command's sending more and more to the far north in case the Bears decide to make a move. There's even talk of sending some of us to the European theater for a preemptive strike."

"You should know better than to invest in such hearsay. Especially if we haven't received any definite orders yet."

This kind of admonishment towards his officer might have been blamed on the painkillers- had they given him any. Perhaps then the nettling pain he was feeling, combined with the headiness from this surprise revelation would excuse Neji his curtness. Not that he particularly seemed to care anymore. Consciousness had bequeathed a wave of apathy on the young Hyῡga, as if sleeping had lightened his burden of duty.

"It's not just a rumor," Sasuke insisted, continuing to talk unperturbed. "Apparently the German Chancellor found out about our kind. He and his cohorts seem to have taken a keen interest. A formal request has already been issued to have a delegation sent to Berlin for his personal 'inspection'." The Uchiha's mouth twisted as if the last sip he took was exceedingly sour. "And we already know what that really means. It's no secret that the Nazis are obsessed with bloodlines."

While both of their families were notorious for being obsessed about the same thing, the connotation here was very different. Whispers of the horrors taking place in Europe echoed eerily of their own renegade Sanin. The missing ninja Orochimaru would have found a warm welcome in that sort of environment, his depravities still evoking a shudder from even the most hardened war veterans. The fact that he had yet to be caught in the wake of the chaos only lent more fuel to this conspiracy.

"Would you… go along with that?" A look of surprise or even contempt would have been preferable. Instead, the prideful warrior's blank expression made him look lost, like the child he really was. Seeking solace in the bottom of his mug.

"You're not seriously considering obeying that kind of order, are you?" Neji probed, growing increasingly bold within the silence. "You know as well as I what they would do. They would pick us apart, dissect us- you and me especially." Having narrowly escaped a kidnapping himself for his precious eyes, the Hyūga felt righteous indignation welling up inside of him. "We're soldiers. We obey our commands. But that… that makes us into chattel! We're not disposable as fuel or ammunition!"

This was the first time he had ever raised his voice to his commanding officer. All the disgrace he had endured, every demeaning task he'd been forced to do as an adjunct to this pratty teenager hadn't brought him to this point. Yet his injuries notwithstanding, Neji had never felt as empowered as he did just then. It was as if he was backed into a corner- they both were, he was just starting to realize.

"No. We are shinobi. We follow orders, no matter what." Sasuke's voice was cold and hard, but without any conviction. "-Besides," He tried to deflect, massaging the enamel mug in his hands and averting his normally stony gaze. "It's not likely to happen."

The groaning of the metal hull as it flexed under the arc of hill-sized waves filled the silence as Neji decided how he felt about his commander's sudden recalcitrance. It was easy to see that he was having misgivings, and the senior ensign was prompted to feel contempt for the other boy. If he was only now stopping to consider the realities of their position, then he was more a fool than he had first surmised.

"What do you think is going to happen?"

Pausing had given him time to calm somewhat, his normal faculties placating his anger.

"The USA will drag out any talks of peace. That's a given." Answering questions of strategy was child's play to this selectively innocent teenage assassin. "I doubt the IJA will want to pursue conflict. The United States has near infinite resources at their disposal. No matter how big a boon it would be to have that at our fingertips, it would be far too costly to invade their mainland. At least, that's according to our agents." With a cocky smile, Sasuke tried to reaffirm his competence by relating secret information he was not supposed to know. It didn't work. "My guess is that Japan will concentrate its forces against Russian intervention. Internal memos in Washington indicate that the Americans don't really trust their communist allies as much as they'd like the world to believe. They would like nothing more than if we were to see full-scale conflict with them. So that's what headquarters will make believe we'll do, and stall for as long as the talks last. After that-" Sasuke looked into his mug, swirling invisible dregs. "Not sure. The British are on their last legs in India, and it's fairly likely that they will pull out too when they realize they no longer have resource backing. That'll take the other European nations with them. From the sound of things, they have their own problems to worry about."

He feigned smugness as he set down his coffee on an undulating table and crossed his arms. But underneath his subordinate's stare, he felt like he was in a formal inquiry.

"And what will we do?"

Sasuke faltered, the boilerplate answer feeling more and more like a lie. It was getting harder and harder to follow such inane orders.

"I… I don't know." He finally admitted.

It was Neji's turn to grit his teeth and sigh as the sleepless night without reprieve was finally catching up to him. The rocking of the ship was constantly agitating his injuries, and they hadn't even been allowed the standard ration of Sake because the Navy considered them 'underage'. Yet another aspect he had to question about their ludicrous position.

"One has to admire the Germans at least for one thing." Sasuke perked up as the white-eyed boy bit out this statement, the pain making it sound spiteful. "Fate saw them lose the last Great War and duty forced them to take responsibility for it. It even looks like they might lose this one. But they haven't given up just yet." Past the clenched jaw, he gave the Uchiha what might have passed for a smile. "Almost gives you hope, doesn't it?"

Sasuke looked at the other teen for a long time. The regulation close-cropped hair on the boy's head was starting to grow out into a silty waterfall, and he idly realized that he too could probably use a haircut. Rather than looking disheveled, it made them both look more like experienced soldiers despite their youthful age. Stress and responsibility had incised lines into his brother's face early on in his career, and he wondered if this was the fate of all in their line of work- wondered if that fathomless stare was mirrored in his own obsidian-colored eyes.

For the first time he looked at Neji as perhaps something other than a subordinate. Something more than just a fellow shinobi.

He realized that they were two of a kind, isolated in this war fabricated around them.

"Can we really let the outsiders continue to dictate our lives?"

The question sounded rhetorical. It forced them both to remember the faces of all the comrades they'd started out with. So many of their fellow classmates, a few years younger or older- it didn't matter. Most were cut down within months of seeing combat. Had there been a Jōnin to teach them how to survive, things might have been different. Were they the lucky ones, or had this been the plan all along? Cull them to extinction and keep the rest in cages called 'duty' and 'service'.

"It almost sounds like you're suggesting treason, ensign." Sasuke said with a malicious grin on his face, providing surprising comfort to his ally.

"No commander, it's war."

* * *

" _This is Sergeant Mitarashi," The gruff voice that he would come to know over the next few months informed him unquestioningly. "She will get you up to speed." There was no room for exception, neither in the command nor the leering violet eyes staring him down. "You will not come crying to me if you can't cut her training. You will not complain to any other officers. You will not even_ _ **speak**_ _to anyone else but her until she deems you acceptable for our unit."_

 _Naruto's instinct was to rebel. Years of discipline training could not totally overwrite this contrarian inclination when someone gave him such an ultimatum._

 _But animal instinct was even stronger, and the predatory grin prevented him from saying anything._

" _If- and that's a big_ _ **if**_ _, she passes you, then and only then will we allow you to come on missions with us."_

 _This had to be a dream- apart from the dream it already was. Perhaps the afterlife, punishing him after his execution by military tribunal. Whatever the vision presented to him was, it was not normal. The good-guys were ordering him to kill innocents, and the castoffs and misfits of the were was screening him for competence._

 _Like battle, it would have been funny if it weren't so serious._

 _A harsh blow on the back of his head reminded him that this was very real. And in light of this, perhaps he should have held his tongue._

" _What the fuck was that for, you big oaf?!"_

 _The moment the words passed out of his mouth he was flinching in Pavlovian response for a follow-on blow that never came. Even physical measures had yet to curtail his language._

 _Yet his would-be commander just smiled behind his bandage-masked face, and his newest instructor guffawed openly._

" _I had to ask you twice if you understood. You're a lucky brat. Normally if I were to repeat myself, I'd be talking to your severed head while I crushed it under my feet."_

 _In spite of the veracity of this threat, Naruto could still feel his ego lashing out at the shark-toothed man. Bruised, but still as ornery as ever._

" _Awe, don't be like that, Zabuza-chan." Before he had realized it, the new lady had snaked her way silently over to the imposing man's side, draping herself over his whippet-like arms. "Don't you remember a time when you were young and foolish?"_

 _Zabuza growled, a sound which was ignored by the temptress as she continued her ministrations._

" _You will address me by my rank,_ _ **Sergeant**_ _."_

" _Oh? And why is that?" The atmosphere was growing increasingly uncomfortable, and Naruto recognized the tension of a false-lull before combat. "Just remember, Zabuza-_ _ **chan**_ _, that the only reason you have that rank is because your country capitulated first." She then leaned into the man's ear to whisper, but the teenager on the sidelines couldn't help but overhear. "Shall I remind you why want me to train the kid?"_

" _Hmph." Unperturbed, Zabuza harrumphed while Naruto was trying busily to catch his breath. "The reason is that I don't have time to babysit the brat. In fact, I have actual work to do."_

" _I'm_ _ **sure**_ _you do." She pushed the man away in mock disgust, surprisingly moving the body which was almost a full two heads taller than her. "Well then, say 'bye-bye' now, 'cause we got a_ _ **lot**_ _of_ _ **work**_ _to take care of too."_

* * *

" _Ah! Holy shit, you're fucking insane!"_

 _Surprisingly, it was only now that he was realizing this, as he was strung up upside-down with ninja-wire from a tree and bleeding like a fuel can from the numerous cuts littering his body. It had only been a few hours, but he was already realizing the extent to which he was woefully unprepared for this torture disguised as training._

 _Sgt. Mitarashi, or as she had insisted she be addressed, "Anko-chan", was realizing a few things too. Mainly, all her current ward's weaknesses, physical and mental. Not to mention his limits, constantly pushing them with every cut, every blow to his ego and sensibility. Discovering just how durable- just how broken he really was._

" _Ku, ku, ku. Well of course I am." She licked the kunai in her hand that was still dripping his blood. "It's no fun being normal. Always obedient, always following orders, always so_ _ **dull**_ _." She paced under the boy like a hungry animal, and as she circled him restively he struggled to escape his binds._

" _That's it, fight it." The command was imbued with a kind of desperate passion Naruto had never experienced before. "It's the only thing you can call your own. First thing you realize is that without your life, you can do nothing. Nothing else matters, not your comrades, not your family, not your friends."_

" _I don't got any friends or family." Naruto spat angrily as he fought against his bonds, trying to turn the statement into a strength by reminding himself that he had survived thus far on his own. No one had been looking out from him since the academy, and pretending he liked it that way._

" _Oh, poor baby…" The cooing voice slithered up on him from above, her lithe body coiling around the wire and soon his cocooned body. "Did your parents die and leave you all alone? No one want to sit next to you in school? It must have been tough, always enduring under those harsh looks, the whispers of 'monster' when they thought your back was turned…"_

" _How would you know about that?" Having seen death, Naruto thought that he had conquered his fear. Little to know, that death was the easiest thing to conquer._

" _Oof!"_

 _This fear was easily ignored in the face of pain. His body hit the ground and the acidic soil invaded his slowly healing wounds, resisting scabbing because of the poison she'd laced in the kunai._

" _Don't worry brat," Somehow Anko managed to pick him up with one hand and hold his hog-tied body close enough that he could smell even the strange feminine scent behind the prevalent stench of sweat and oil. "If you manage to stick with us, we will be your friends, your family, your everything. You will never have enemies as fierce as us, nor allies as strong." An abnormally long tongue wormed its way out of her venomous lips and caressed one of the oozing cuts on his face._

" _I will be your teacher, your warden, your lover, and your crazy ex-girlfriend."_

 _Once again he found himself on his rear, the bindings suddenly gone and the constricting feeling around his chest alleviated._

" _Because if you haven't realized it already…"_

 _Despite the pain, he leveled an acerbic glare at the woman as she continued to spout things which sounded insane, but strangely inviting._

" _You ain't got anything else left."_

* * *

 _What was normal anymore?_

 _Raised in battle, forged in the extremes, perhaps he was more conditioned for this than he realized. Never having experienced the mundanity of civilian life, never having known the loving hand of a mother or the casual touch of a friend had doubtlessly changed him so that the bitter camaraderie of combat was like water to a parched man._

 _This was a different brew entirely._

 _He held up under the beatings, getting up every time with renewed vigor and determination. He weathered the insults, the temptations to quit, the lies and the deception forged to make him twist until he broke._

 _This "tough-love" he swallowed with a bitterness that became a little more bearable each time. Every day which passed by got him more used to the taste of this adult concoction as he understood the benefit and the truth in her teachings until one day he realized that he could no longer function without it._

 _He was addicted. Not to the pain, but the attention. For once the focus was all on him, and the outside world could go hang itself._

" _Heh, not bad, Gaki." Anko commended after Naruto's unexpected retaliation to her snare, yanking forward on the snakes she shot forth from her wrist to deliver a brutal head-butt which clearly shattered her nose. She did not so much as wince as she reset the crooked feature with her thumb. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're beginning to enjoy this."_

 _He was. Inebriated on that strange combination of caring and torment. That was not something he would deny any longer with crass language and eschewing insults. Now he accepted it with a drunken smile to match his sensei._

" _Finally getting one over on you? Hell yeah, you bet I am." He was not too proud to admit this small victory._

" _Don't celebrate yet," She warned with a clicking chuckle, suddenly disappearing from his vision in a cloud of smoke. His eyes widened, recognizing the clone technique he most often used these days and whipping around too late to intercept the kick which deformed his cheek._

" _You still have a long way to go-what?!"_

 _Genuine surprise as her target also exploded in an obscuring cloud, Anko backtracked as quickly as she could, a hailstorm of throwing knives following in her wake. Her foot touched down and instantaneously triggered a snare, nigh-invisible wire busily roping around her ankle before she severed it._

 _This moment of distraction was more than enough though for Naruto to once again close the distance to his target, capitalizing on his forte. Anko might have been the superior technician with almost a decade more experience under her belt, but it was nigh impossible for her to keep up with his blossoming teenage body. Adapting along with his mind, quickly overtaking his master for raw strength._

 _She gave as good as she got. And by the end of it, both were battered and thoroughly exhausted, doubled over and clutching their stomachs where lungs begged for air and ribs groaned in protest._

 _He couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun. The months he'd been training with Anko had instilled a revitalized will to live in him. A sanctuary where the only order he had to follow was survive. A battleground that at last was even- a true challenge which satisfied his longing for purpose._

 _Just as the leaves on branches turned with the seasons, even this battleground would shift uneasily beneath his feet._

" _Heh, ready to give up the ghost, granny?" He wheezed out, managing to peel himself off the ground only to see Anko was no longer in that dusty indentation he'd left her in._

" _Ku, ku, ku. As I said, you still have a long way to go…" He felt arms coil around his neck like a boa constrictor- something he'd gotten so used to that he didn't need to think in order to tuck his chin in and prevent the forearm from crushing his windpipe._

 _Those hands, bypassing his throat and meandering their way lower across his chest and stomach was not something he was prepared for- nothing he could have been prepared for. That once harsh mouth to start nibbling at his earlobe, sharp tongue darting out to tease his skin, fingers slowly probing the wounds they'd created. Foreign sensations whispering secrets in a strange tongue._

" _Wha-what are-?"_

" _Just relax, Naruto-kun. This is just the next part of your training. Just another experience everyone needs to have if they claim to truly be alive…"_

 _He'd endured the psychological torture designed to test his will. He'd born up under the barbs and the humiliation designed to test his determination. He desperately wanted to rebel against this, this alluring pleasure, to decry it as another one of his instructor's tricks designed to pull the wool over his eyes._

 _He was temporarily blinded as his cotton shirt, rotten from the humid jungle, was practically ripped over his head._

" _You think you're an adult because you can kill, because they gave you that headband. You have so much to learn about the real world, things you can only learn by doing…"_

 _He resisted- or at least, tried to. The fact remained that she was still stronger than he- maybe not physically, but with that part of her psyche she sacrificed there was an unassailable belief in her actions. There was nothing he could do but let her instill that twisted methodology on him._

 _Like before, he could only accept it. As he had for everything else thus far in his life, a passenger. A loud one, but a passenger none the less._

 _It was not unpleasant as being tortured. Dare he say, it might have even been enjoyable if not for the niggling voice in the back of his head telling him that it was wrong. The same voice which haunted him every time he cut someone down on the battlefield._

 _In spite of his mute objections, he continued to wonder one thing loudly above all others in his mind._

 _What part of this was love?_

* * *

 _April 14_ _th_ _, 1943_

 _Unknown Location, jungle east of Calcutta, 1800 hours._

The sun had not quite set when his eyes bolted open. There were no voices around that could have awoken him, but he was still aware of a foreign presence unnervingly close to where he lay curled up under that knobby root.

His hand lashed out, knocking away the scrub brush keeping his hiding place disguised and causing a small flock of nearby birds to take sudden flight. He continued to lay there in the cool darkness, in his hand a pitch-black viper.

The snake bore its fangs and hissed at him, spitting venom at his muddy face merely causing him to smile. It writhed and struggled to sink its teeth into his wrist but he continued to hold it steady with two fingers above its eye sockets and a thumb underneath its jaw so that he could snap it shut at any time.

Anko had taught him that, along with how to skin the snake with his teeth and remove its venom sacks in order to cook it or simply consume it raw.

"Go on, get out of here."

Extracting himself from his hollow, he walked over to the tall elephant grass and gently let the reptile go there. It whipped at his hand once, but was far too slow to bite him. It was but a juvenile, not yet fully developed. Some might have said that they were more dangerous than the adults because they couldn't control the amount of venom they injected with a bite, but Naruto knew better.

" _Remember: They're only dangerous if you let them bite you."_

He smiled ruefully, not quite sure if he was forcing it or if it was real. He still had many questions about life that could wait until appropriate. He was in the midst of writing a story, and couldn't afford to linger lest he lose his inspiration.

Turning his back to the setting sun, he set off again. Sticking close to the road, but far enough away in the tall grass that no one would ever see anything more than a passing flutter in the stalks like a gust of wind.

He still had a long way to go.


	8. Just a Feeling

**So, I've been redoing this chapter for about a week now, and am almost to the point where I'm happy with it, but rather just shove it out there so I can on with what I really want to do. A guest mentioned this, and I'd like to say that I agree, more Tenten would be great, so the next chapter will be mostly her. That one too is almost done.**

 **Also, I'm not trying for Naruto to seem 'edgy' in this, as that is one of my own personal pet peeves which I just feel is too overused. That being said, yes he's quieter and not as incompetent. But don't take the absence of conversation to mean that he is so introverted, it's just that we don't really see these day to day things because we focus on the battles and missions where he needs to be quiet (And yes, I get the fact that he probably wouldn't be even then, but we assume that he's had things a little better under Imperial rule, okay?)**

 **Anyway, I do appreciate everyone who has supported me thus far, and will hopefully in the future (barring any major ball-ups of my own doing).**

 **Cheers laddies**

* * *

 _April 15_ _th_ _, 1943_

 _Unknown Location, jungle east of Calcutta, 0200 hours._

Overland through the vast jungles and plains was arduous. It might have been better to backtrack to the port city and commandeer a vessel to take him back to Burma HQ. After the debacle his last mission had turned into, that would also be the most likely place to find what remained of his unit. He doubted they would have stuck around long after having so much attention attracted their way.

Then again, times were changing. And not necessarily in a good way. Not in a way that anyone could predict.

Case in point, here he was, traipsing about the countryside and making his way eastward across the land without any specific goal in mind. All that he knew was that he couldn't afford to stay still. Not when the world was spiraling out of control all around him.

 _ **Let it fall apart. You're tired of order, tired of taking orders.**_

He purposefully let a branch whack him across the face, stirring him from these lucid thoughts which had become increasingly prevalent as of late. At first, he thought it was a matter of his listlessness during his hospital stay, mind free to run amok in dark places. Then, wondering if it was because he was pushing himself too much, body finally choosing to remind his mind that he was only human.

 _ **But you're not, are you? Could a mere human, even a shinobi, cause all that destruction?**_

He leapt down from the canopy into a thickly grassed glen. The heat was, as always, oppressive, but he felt a chill travel down his spine like a rod of moonlight from the waxen sphere above. Hellish images besieged him- ones that he knew, destruction that he caused, flashing in and out of his mind's eye like a newsreel.

 _ **To be famous- to be infamous- to shape the world. This potential is within your grasp.**_

He shook his head in the negative, trying to dispel this traitorous voice. It was different than that gently reminding conscience, a voice in his own tenor passively whispering hints like a scent on the wind. This one was incendiary, relentless, razing everything to expose the dark thoughts he had never wanted to see the light of day.

 _ **You deny them, you deny yourself. Why pretend to be something you are not? You want to be human, yet all they do is dress up their actions in the garbs of civility, pretending that calling it something else makes it better than murder. Would a rose by any other name not have thorns?**_

There was a cold sweat running down his neck and under his collar. The voice wasn't going away. He fingered the heavy weight of the text in his rucksack, trying to seek solace in its mysterious and unfathomable words. Reality seemed to be slipping through his fingertips, this nighttime trapping him in a dream which would last forever.

 _ **Forever and ever and ever. Those gods that you cling to are the very thing keeping you trapped, making you subservient. The only salvation lies the other way, at the bottom of a deep, dark well.**_

What did it mean to be strong? To follow orders, or to disobey them? To embrace the darkness or rebuke it? If he were to acknowledge the voice in his head, give in to its temptation, would it be his salvation, or damnation?

He fell to his knees in the fertile soil, clutching a hand to his chest. The tall grass pulled a curtain over everything but the foreign spattering of stars overhead and his rampaging heartbeat which throbbed in his ears. Even this proved too much- everything was just too much. The myriad of voices in his head coming to a crescendo all at once.

One prevailed through the others.

 _ **YOU WILL NOT IGNORE ME!**_

"SHUT UP!"

Breath hitched in his throat and for a moment his heart seemed to stop beating.

What had been a cacophony stopped abruptly, swallowed by the image of a fox made from the flames in very memories which haunted him. It had devoured it all in one massive gulp, leaving behind only silence and the barest hint of sulfur in his nostrils.

Bent double for what felt like half the night, he searched inside of himself for something. His stolen heartbeat, his forfeited sanity, his bartered innocence. At last, there came a deep rumble which he feared was a return, until he realized that he hadn't eaten anything all day.

But the guttural sensation wasn't coming from within. It originated outside, in that world he could no longer regard as completely real. He looked up, and a painted tiger stared back from the backdrop of reeds. Its brilliant orange stripes muted in the pale moonlight, but its famished eyes shone piercing and chatoyant.

Mouth wide and tongue lolling in a mute greeting, the beast stepped forth from its canvas to inspect this morsel. Not a muscle did he move as it came so close that its whiskers tickled his own, drinking in his scent with that black velvet bulge.

Some said these creatures could smell fear. Although he had no weapons on him, it was not this creature he was afraid of. Action did not scare him, it was the decision which was the hard part.

To hide, to run, to die…

To kill.

This thought like static electricity seemed to jump from one beast to the other and the tiger pulled away in surprise. Realizing this feeble looking prey was anything but, it lost interest in its investigations and quickly turned its back on the lost boy.

"Good kitty." He whispered to himself, watching as the striped tail was slurped up by the tall grass like it had never been there.

Sighing, he got back on his feet and looked to the brilliant stars to relocate his direction. After reminding himself that the stars were not quite the same as they were in Konoha, he gave up this effort and settled for following the road again.

Sometimes it was nice when things worked themselves out like that. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that to always be the case.

Though he'd yet to come to a fork in this road. The roads here weren't dissimilar to those back in the Shinobi Nations. Hard-packed dirt in various states of upkeep, meandering blindly this way and that through the trees and mountain passes and making it impossible to see all that far ahead. When travelling somewhere new they had the effect of making you disoriented even with a map.

Luckily, he didn't have one, content for now to go due east- or as close to it as he could get. Still, the nostalgic scenery made him note the differences all the more. Lack of noise for one. Voices, something beyond the shrill cries of fauna that managed to sound foreign and fearsome.

Speaking of fearsome, the voice in his head had remained silent, having expended itself in that one violent explosion of fury.

But he knew it was there. As surely as that wellspring of guilt remained for it to water itself. And this knowledge did nothing to assuage his loneliness.

Almost as if in response, there came sounds, voices far off in the distance. It was easy to believe they were figments of his imagination until he caught a lonely light, winking at him over that expanse of fallow earth. His keen eyes could pick up the flickering fire underneath that distant tree, and his sharp hearing heard the careless carousing of male voices.

Instantly he knew that this was no dream. He did not need to see their faces to know the nasal timbre of westerners, which spurred a response in his trained muscles. There was only one thing people like that would be doing out here this time of night.

"…And so then I tell 'im that the curry he's all fawnin over is made 'a dog!" Another round of laughter circled the campfire along with a half-empty bottle of rum which only added to the celebration. "Should'a seen tha way 'e turned green!"

"And 'e believed ya? What a moron!"

"Well, it didn't 'urt that I slipped the local bloke a few pence for him ta drag a stray behind the counter, right in front of 'is nose!"

The unfettered laughter rang out over the flat landscape, sound and light carrying for miles like a beacon to any paying the slightest bit of attention. Field mice, the only other listeners, turning their ears to the harsh noise.

This carelessness was offensive to the professional soldier in Naruto. One of the many voices returning to tell him how easy it would be to sneak up and kill all three of them without a sound.

But that wasn't what he was here for. He was merely a visitor in this strange land, passing on through.

"Still, 'ats a few pence you'll never see 'gain." Slurred another man morosely with a hand clutching the neck of the bottle containing amber-colored liquid. "Lord knows when we'll be getting another paycheck anytime soon…" The soldier looked sorrowfully into the bottom of the bottle which even in his drunken haze was getting closer and closer.

"Nah, 'is na problem." The storyteller asserted, leaning over the fire to snatch the bottle as it was hogged by his comrade who was too glum to take offence. "While the bloke was chasin' down the dog, I snagged 'is purse from behind the counter!"

"Aw, man, why'd ya have to go an' do that fer?" The man immediately to the right slapped his dirt-caked forehead, knocking his tin helmet to the ground where it rested along with all the others. "'Had a thing goin with the man's daughter…"

"Like 'ell! Wit' your flappin' mouth, you'd be lucky 'nuff ta catch a fly!" With the same hand he used to wipe the corner of his mouth, the man checked his comrade on the shoulder, nearly toppling the man over in their drunken disorientation. "'t's not like there's a shortage of 'em around- not fer much longer though. Last I 'ear, order's passed down just th'other day, we's shippin off to Europe!"

"Feck off!"

"Yeah, no one believes yer shite!"

"Yeah, 'sides, we just go from guarding a field ta…"

"Guarding another field?"

The damn broke at this latest suggestion, the issue in contentment forgotten as they drowned their bitterness and dissatisfaction in a precious moment of oblivion.

The more he listened from his fold in the earth behind the lonesome tree, the less disgust Naruto felt towards the three outsiders. They were like children. Their carelessness wasn't solely to blame on them, but the Allied command which deemed them fit for combat in the first place. Such as his own, who tossed out youths of eleven or less as soon as they could properly hold a knife. He knew that many of the voices inside would call him foolish for sympathizing with the enemy. But there was no one around any longer to tell him just who that was.

And then, his eavesdropping hadn't been fruitless. Even if what the soldier said was one-third truth and two-thirds drunken exaggeration, the sentiment that the British were ready to go home was a crucial knowledge. If his side knew how close their enemies were to capitulating, then they could end this war in one swift move.

It was impossible not to let that thought make him feel a little giddy, fantasize a bit about being hailed a hero and receive all sorts of commendations. Despite how unlikely and foolish he knew this was, there was the simple fact that a shorter battle was better than a longer one.

That was something he'd learned the hard way.

Continuing to linger just out of the firelight, he hoped to glean more inadvertent intel. Quite what he intended to do with this dangerous gossip, he wasn't sure. It might even become irrelevant by the time he made it back- if he went back at all. That was something else he was still deciding.

But the conversation devolved even further than it already had, moving on to more and more slurred agendas as the remaining fingers in the bottle were drained. In this time, Naruto noticed that while the firelight waned, it had not gotten any darker. Far off on that limitless horizon, the sun was starting to come up.

It was time to go. But just when he began to silently extract himself, a thought hit him as his eye caught their unguarded supplies. Food and water which he would need if he were to cross this dry plain, not to mention armaments and other necessities which he'd been unable to take with him during his initial flight. It would be ever so easy to just reach over and snatch one of their small-packs, the lolling heads none the wiser…

"Hey… wassa…?"

Freezing, his hand poised just above a revolver which lay in a pile with the webbing- a personal affect tucked away in a hand-tooled leather holster. Subtle ivory engravings on its handle just becoming visible in the growing dawn.

Gathering the other supplies had been easy, but prudence told him to grab a weapon. All the others were standard-issue: Enfield rifles which were almost as tall as himself. Totally impractical for going unnoticed.

Of course, if he hadn't spared the pistol a second thought, he never would have been noticed anyway.

Now he faced a choice. They had seen his face, but they were so far gone they probably wouldn't remember it, blaming their missing gear on locals.

But what if they saw his skin in the firelight? What if they were not as thoughtless as their drunken stupor suggested, and they realized he was one of those legendary boogiemen? A hunting party might be sent for him. Even if it didn't find him, it wasn't a smart idea for him to put the Allied forces on alert.

What if, what if, what if. There were always consequences for every action.

"What'cha think yer doin'…?"

A fat hand groped for his shoulder, and in an instant he had taken up the revolver and bashed the man's temple with the butt of the gun. Another lurching movement caused him to lash out with his bare foot, catching another man in the chin with his heel. He whipped around to level that snub barrel on the last soldier, but he was already passed out, feet propped up on a log and head resting on the ground as he loudly snored.

Naruto let out a breath as he tried to release the murderous tension which hadn't been sated. At least it would be easier to sort through their stuff.

Without further thinking he raided their supplies for the bare essentials. Casting off the underwear and socks that were too big, and the trinkets which held no meaning to him he scattered around the smoldering embers. He no longer cared if they noticed the evidence of his arrival.

He hefted the now overstuffed satchel over his back and cast a fleeting look backwards to the three inebriants laid out around the extinguished fire. Hands ghosted over the bulge where the revolver resided, hidden in his waist band.

Then he reached down to the empty bottle, casting it away as far as he could away from rising sun. Hopefully they would be sober enough to explain their missing gear by the time relief came. If not, oh well. It was no longer his problem.

What he had to do right now was find cover, and fast, before the sun lit everything on that barren plain. After running a goodly distance away from the remote outpost along the road, he took a sudden jog to the south and ran for an equal distance. Finally, he crouched down, and within moments he had whipped the hand-seals together and slipped invisibly into the ground.

Within his earthen womb he curled up, propping his head on the canvas ruck. The pistol's gnarled and stained grips rested comfortably in his small hands, and for the first time in a long while he slept peacefully. The only thoughts plaguing his mind revolved around why no one ever seemed to issue Ramen rations.

* * *

 _April 15_ _th_ _, 1943_

 _Konohagakure no Sato, Imperial Outpost, 0900 Hours_

Life was an uphill battle.

Everything one did was against forces in the universe trying to maintain a status quo. Just waking up in the morning, one fought against omnipresent gravity and the body's inclination for slumber. Cooking breakfast only added to the entropy of the universe, countless Btu's of heat being wasted to make the whites of eggs harder, the polished rice softer. Even eating was an effort first thing in the morning, intake of fuel for the sole purpose of using it up in the day ahead.

It was all so… troublesome.

Some things though, Shikamaru Nara noted, were more troublesome than others.

Like war.

Sure, peace was hardly a walk in the park, and to maintain a sense of ease required someone in the background to constantly be working 24/7 to prevent a relapse into that preordained chaos. It was work, to be certain. But like the choice to eat, or not to eat, the answer was simple.

Fighting was easy. Their culture had been bred for it throughout the centuries, and the latest addition of guns and airplanes hardly changed the strategies of warfare all that much. Nothing really differed from the rules of Go, and the Imperials were smart enough to realize this. Using simple aphorisms like 'divide and conquer', coupled with the initial shock of their weapons had won them the day. Despite being superior warriors, the shinobi had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book.

No, nothing was ever really new. It all followed the same rules, just like any game. Every move had its tradeoff. Every strength, its weakness. For every piece gained, something had to be lost.

There would always be losers.

So far, Shikamaru hadn't lost. Even though his home country had come under the subjugation of a foreign entity, he had never stopped struggling against the imposed order. Anyone who knew him might find this behavior odd, but it, too, came with a very logical rational:

So far, he himself hadn't lost. And so, he would continue to play the game.

"Hey, Nara-san, another set of requisition orders that need approval." A stack of yellowed papers taller than the house of cards he was building dropped onto the desk in front of him, knocking down that same paper castle and causing him to groan in protest.

"Come on, can't you get one of the others to do it?" The teen gestured to the other uniformed bodies in the cramped office hunched over their workload and shooting him glares over their own stacks which were less than a quarter of his own. "Tch." He scoffed back in defiance of their looks, knowing that they were dragging their feet completing the assignments to prevent just such a fate. Freedom was another word for people finding out just how useless you were.

"Sorry, Shikamaru," Adjusting the round glasses on her face, Shiho gave her companion an apologetic smile. "But this isn't coming from me." The opaqueness of her lenses hid the glance backwards, but Shikamaru could still tell that the woman was gesturing towards the front of the room, where the Imperial Commandant Takahara was glaring daggers at him.

"Apparently Takahara-shōsa thinks you have extra time on your hands…" She stated sheepishly, looking at the flattened house of cards underneath the pile.

"I knew I should have gone outside to watch the clouds instead." The Nara teen sighed, running a hand through his pineapple- shaped hair and patting his breast pocket looking for a cigarette. "And you wonder why I took up smoking. It seems to be the only break I get. I swear, I'm gonna be nearsighted before the day is over…"

Blushing at her own myopic handicap, the woman glanced away from her not-so-secret crush and muttered, "Yeah, well, I don't think the boss will let you use that excuse again. These ones are supposed to be pretty urgent."

"Oh?" An uncharacteristic look of interest flashed through the boredom, and Shikamaru momentarily forgot the cancer-stick dangling from his lip. "Well, maybe I should get started on it right away, huh?"

Tossing the unlit cigarette into the ashtray, the dark-haired boy whipped the first sheet off the pile, scanning it with machine-like precision and focus. Ignoring even a loud cough from the front of the room which startled the female administrator, prodding her to return to her own work and leaving her friend alone.

Amidst the shuffling of papers and the occasional off-rhythm thump of rubber stamps, Shikamaru's mind chugged along like a combustion engine. Steadfast in his job to read thoroughly every paper that crossed his desk, looking for typos and balancing the budget allocated to their village's military forces.

Boring and monotonous to most, Shikamaru was smart enough to find something of interest behind every line. None of the supposed 'confidential' information was listed on these forms, such as the unit or their location. But pride could not prevent the requisitioning officer's name and personal seal from being affixed to each one, spelling out for those who were paying attention just what resources were going where.

And, according to Imperial doctrine, all soldiers, including shinobi were counted as resources.

Slapping his own stamp apathetically on the sheet, Shikamaru moved it wordlessly to the out-pile while his mind processed the information he had already memorized.

 _Tokubetsu-Gunsō Momochi, requesting replacements for two soldiers MIA in their last engagement, two months hence. Replacements approved, on the usual condition that they be picked from the disciplinary pool._

While his hands and eyes worked through the other supposedly 'urgent' requests, Shikamaru perused the list of personnel under his jurisdiction who had been slated for prison, wondering who he should send.

But also, wondering just whom he was replacing.

 _Not unusual for 'the Demon of the Mist' needing more fodder. Their group has by far the highest attrition rate amongst any unit, despite their 100% shinobi composition. Still, it's been a while, the last people I sent his way were Inuzuka Hana and Uzumaki Naruto…_

In the midst of his work he had managed to light a cigarette. Taking a long drag, he jammed the half-finished stick into the clay ashtray, snuffing it out.

"Troublesome."

Being efficient at his job was troublesome, but not nearly so much as having these papers pass by some other bureaucrats' desk. These were people he'd gone to school with, shared a park bench and rubbed elbows with in the street. The others probably wouldn't care that there was a living being behind that impersonal name scrawled out on the requisite form. He didn't have a choice.

If they needed him to resign his pride as a shinobi, he'd take one for the team. If they needed him to stack the game board in their favor, he'd be the chess master behind the curtain. And if they needed him to push papers all day long, he'd be their damned paper god.

It was just easier than the alternative.

* * *

 _April 18_ _th_ _, 1943_

 _Along the banks of the Kaljani River, South ofBuxa Forest, 0100 Hours_

Only now did he realize how large the world truly was. Days he had traveled, and even though he could not travel as swiftly as he would have liked while keeping unseen, it was still an unfathomably vast distance.

It should have been expected, given the fact that his own people had stayed hidden in plain sight for so long. Yet it wasn't something you could comprehend just by looking at a map or putting a pin down on a globe. Like names on a page, the mountain ranges and river crisscrossing the great blue marble meant little until it was looming right in front of you, eclipsing the way forward.

The Brahmaputra was just such a geographical challenge, daunting in its immensity. It was proving just as much an adversity for Naruto as it was the Imperial army, who were stymied several kilometers back from its eastern banks while he was stuck on the west. The last vestiges of Allied resistance were fighting doggedly to keep them there, putting themselves unwittingly in between the boy and his goal.

All up and down the floodplains of the great river were men and machines deposited like sediments spilling from its banks. For miles and miles, not a patch of grass was left unoccupied by this tide of humanity who were slowly but surely being expelled from this part of the globe. Such a pitiful and moving sight had not been seen since the beginning of the war at Dunkirk. But there was little chance of a miracle saving the Allies today, and one could feel this knowledge spreading like a malaise throughout the camp.

Having never heard of Dunkirk, the chance of their deliverance never even entered Naruto's mind. Especially as he focused solely on how to get himself past this nigh-impenetrable barrier.

Where before he had confidence that he could sneak through undetected, now he harbored doubts. The British troops guarding the barracks had somehow sniffed them out of a whole crowd of people, and chances were likely that within this horde existed someone or something that could replicate this feat.

Which lead to the fact that he could always just make a break for it. He doubted there were any sharpshooters capable of drawing a bead on him in this darkness before he flitted past them like a bat out of hell. Yet, even though the massive guns were facing away from him now, the moment he got upon the water he would draw their fire and lead the veteran artillerymen right to his ally's encampment.

There was of course the option of simply standing still and waiting out this stalemate. The Imperial Japanese Army would not let themselves be halted for long, and would break through the lines sooner rather than later. Probably using shinobi forces at the forefront, if they weren't complete fools.

Something prevented him from lingering though, even though he knew salvation was within a stone's throw. Listlessness became like a sickness, and so he took off again, skirting along one of the tributary rivers towards parts unknown.

Driven only by gut and this newfound wanderlust, he headed north along the river fork and further into the impenetrable forest. The feeling which drew him changing direction, away from the soldiers whose only familiarity was that they spoke the same tongue. And towards…something, yet a mystery.

* * *

 _April 18_ _th_ _, 1943_

 _Council Outpost 04, Grass Country, Elemental Nations, 0100 Hours_

"The Axis will lose this war."

What was left after this declaration might have been called silence, but only in the manner of something so massive moving unobserved beneath the surface. Where tectonic shifts occurred right underneath one's nose, disregarded until something broke and a deluge of scorching hot magma erupted at the surface.

Everyone present could feel that orogenic churning, chaos barely contained beneath their feet which felt even closer to disaster being several hundred meters under the earth already. And no one wanted to be the first to unleash this potentially devastating conclusion unto the world.

"So, is this the roundabout way of telling us: 'Fuck you, party's over, it's everyone for themselves now'?"

Unsurprising as it was that the delegate from Iwagakure was the first to give into this outrage, the calmness in his voice was betrayed only by the bluntness which was his mannerism. It was also a testament to just how much the times had changed that he hadn't made an attempt on the speaker's life yet- let alone the fact that he could stand to be in the presence of Konohagakure's arguably most infamous shinobi.

"Somehow I doubt, Kitsuchi-dono, that Shimura-dono would have called us here merely to tell us this." Going almost unnoticed in the shaded corner, the dark-skinned woman from Kumo defended their host tentatively whilst also cautiously assessing her best chances for survival should the shit really hit the fan.

"Indeed, it would have been far wiser to off us individually." A humorous lilt accompanied this morbid observation, totally against the stale and oppressive air in the chamber, but perfectly fitting of the other woman who seemed to thrive in this sort of danger. "Unless of course he wanted to lure us into a trap, and simply means to gloat a bit before ending things. A last fling before the _divorce_ hmm?"

Unable to totally banish the subtle smile these opinions instilled on him, Shimura Danzo waved off the concerns with his one unbandaged hand.

"As amusing as it would be to stretch these old bones one last time, surely you know that I would have chosen a situation more advantageous for myself if I were to attempt something like you are suggesting."

"Cutthroat as always, a true shinobi, eh, Shimura?" While smirking underneath his bushy beard, it was clear that this was not a compliment from the Stone-ninja.

Nevertheless, this time Danzo didn't even try to hide the devious smile forming on his face, owning up to all those less-flattering opinions of himself.

"Refreshing, one would hope, in these uncertain times."

"Perhaps," Admitted the Kumogarkure delegate, relaxing slightly in her seat yet not emerging any more from the shadows which offered her slight advantage. "Though it still tells of nothing of why you called this meeting. Previously we had allied because advantage favored this. While the alliance and the war have certainly been beneficial to our villages, it is no secret that some have benefitted more than others."

"-In short, you're the one who invited this mess, so why would we trust you to get us out of it?" A noticeable venom had tainted the redheaded woman's levity, sparing a drop of it for a quick glance at her counterpart from Kumo whose country had also not done poorly. "Furthermore, what evidence do you have to support this claim? It is a rather drastic change from your initial stance."

"Nothing has changed, Terumi-dono." Sparing the hotheaded woman one of his more respectful gestures, his lone eye meeting hers for the briefest of moments. "It is no secret that what I do, I do for the good of Konoha. Likewise, it is understood that everyone here is of that like mind." Perhaps one of the greater compliments from the man, whether those in attendance knew it or not. "The détente between our villages along with the alliance to the Nippon was always a temporary thing, to be taken as far as was beneficial for those involved."

Danzo paused for effect, surveying the mood of the room and debating the nature of the plea he was next to make.

"Naturally, we owe nothing to those invaders. I will not pretend that it is because of any sentimentality that the shinobi alliance will stand." Kitsuchi snorted in the background, the large man feeling comfortable enough to lean far back in his seat. "-Rather, it is still to our mutual advantage to do so. As you have observed, Kitsuchi-dono, I am a true shinobi, as is everyone at this table."

A challenge waiting for an objection, Danzo was using their pride and they all knew it. Perhaps it was a lie to say that these warriors held no sentiment between their villages. Hatred was far closer to admiration than people would like to admit, and a worthy adversary was a rare commodity to come by.

Raspy laughter diffused this mounting standoff, emanating from the last person at the table to speak.

"It's nice to know that some things never change, no?"

"Honored Sibling." Danzo acknowledged his contemporary's entrance into the discussion with a subtle nod.

"Still, it would be a shame to go through all this just to return to the way things were before." Musing to himself, the septuagenarian from Sunagakure twiddled his massive eyebrows as he let the others ponder on his words.

"With respect, I do not believe it would even be possible to return to the status quo." Offering her humble opinion from the corner, she spoke with deference to this elder shinobi. Kumo may not have been allies with Suna, but the man was a pinnacle of fairness in their otherwise cruel world. "With all the advances that have been introduced to our society, I feel that it would be impossible to make our people give up the luxuries they have been accustomed to."

"Too true, Mabui-dono, too true." Chuckling again, the elder nodded appreciatively to the young woman. "I myself would be hard pressed to give up my radio programs, and I know Nee-chan likes her chocolates!" This genial demeanor quickly darkened as if the lights dangling overhead themselves had dimmed. "Therefore, should it not be the younger generation who will decided what becomes of our societies? I feel us old fogies have muddled things up quite enough."

Unlike the challenge issued by Danzo, this one was undesiring of an answer. Whereas his sister respected the experience gained from battling adversaries, the only thing Ebizō learned from his many years was that it was never enough. Experience taught the same lessons over and over, never anything new. It took an outside force- something like this invasion, to move these immutable facts, and it would be a shame to waste it.

"…Old?"

Being closest to the mounting storm and having decades of experience with the female fury, Ebizō realized his mistake soonest, the color draining from his tanned face as he felt himself toe the grave. The others were not long behind, taking a page from Mabui's book and looking for the best possible escape routes to flee from the smoldering wrath of the temperamental redhead.

"-N-not that everyone here falls in that category!" The admitted 'old fogie' dissuaded, waving his hands frantically as if to physically clear the air of the literal and figurative steam rising from the woman adjacent to him. "No doubt Terumi-dono has many, many years left to go before she can claim this, ne?!"

While this placating remark only seemed to delay his inevitable demise, his wish granted sooner than he would have expected, the Suna elder was delivered from his fate from the last person he would have expected.

"As poignant a question as that may be," All eyes turned to Danzo at the undisputed head of the room as his cool voice palpably dropped the temperature of the room several degrees. "Perhaps it would be better left to after we have assured the next generation a place in this world." The ice in his tone smothered Terumi Mei's magmatic bloodline, allowing the woman to defuse with a huff, crossing her arms over her still very much desirable body.

"We must focus on rectifying the situation as it stands, fixing whatever mistakes may have been made on our parts." A slight reference, if not admission, to his contemporary's remark.

"You're one to talk about your mistakes." Kitsuchi scoffed, dusting off his scuffed pride and pretending he hadn't been about to soil himself. "What about your Uchiha? How do you plan on dealing with that?"

"They will be taken care of along with any of their Imperial allies that get in our way." A collective shiver swept around the room along with the War Hawk's hand, reminding them all of that previous assessment of the man. Was he even a man? Could someone like this be enough of a human to be considered shinobi?

"Now is not the time to assign blame for things in the past," He looked to Ebizō. "Nor is it the time to start daydreaming of a world after this war. Now is the time to lay the foundations of a plan that can react to whatever course this World War takes around us.

"This means confirming the loyalty of your supporters, making sure your subordinates can work together with those from other villages like we are now. No, I am not saying this is a permanent solution, merely that in order to survive we must still support one another in order not to become marginalized in this global theatre."

"Hmph, so this is what you meant by 'nothing has changed'." Quietly smoldering still, Mei observed as she folded one leg over the other.

"Yes. We may have supported the Nippon Empire at first for our own benefits, and now we must band together to make sure we survive its collapse.

"My agents were, for the most part, successful in staying outside Imperial notice." He remarked, noticing the dissatisfied looks from the other with mention of his ROOT agents. "It was much harder, however, for them to infiltrate foreign nations, as we have no prior reference to their cultures and procedures, and therefore had to compile a library of knowledge before the attempt. Hence why it has taken so long for a clear picture of the global situation to be developed. Now though, we have an understanding of just where our side sits in this power play."

"Go on." Of all people, it was Mabui who decided to humor him, impatience evident in her voice.

"Of course. The numbers are there, but they will not mean much to most of us considering the sheer scale of things- Terumi-dono will perhaps have a better picture considering the rebellion her faction waged for the years prior to this." The woman herself shrugged off the respectful nod in her direction. "What you need to know is that the Allies production capabilities- the United States in particular, totally outstrip any advantage the Axis brings to the table."

"Numbers don't always win wars." The Iwagakure shinobi pointed out with evident pride, hinting at his own nation's often underdog status.

"Perhaps, though my nephew might have argued differently." The mention of Sasori of the Red Sands elicited a flinch from the bullish man, as did the contradiction by one of the most venerated in the room.

"Indeed, quantity has a quality of its own." Agreed Danzo. "These very words were spoken by a man who solidified his power by sacrificing thousands of his own people. Currently, he throws away _**tens**_ of thousands to keep the enemy at the gates to his nation."

The table balked at this thought, the idea of a man who would make the sly War Hawk at the head of the table look saintly was horrifying. The desire was to rebuke it as preposterous, yet they had little choice but to believe him. Not only because his were the only spies abroad, but because he himself seemed so disturbed.

Though in truth, Danzo's perturbance was the most disturbing thing of all.

"With countries that can afford to do that, there is very little chance of success if we do not consider all the allies we can get." He did not wish to inform him just how little of a chance they still had, their own numbers waning since the start of this war, and themselves slated to become an endangered species.

"Shame we cannot rely on our neighbors for this." Carefully composing herself, Mabui remarked. "The Chinese are just as fractioned as we were- perhaps even more so. And their animosity for the Nippon in many cases extends to us for our complicity."

"Maybe a few can be convinced, but I believe we have a better chance of persuading a free India." Kept in the know by one of her long-time contacts, Terumi Mei was aware that the liberation of India from Allied occupation was nigh. "Just remind them of who has been helping their independence movement. Friends like that could make a compelling argument for our non-compliance. Or, failing that, prove a good dissuasion for them to try anything."

"Do not so readily believe that they will be our friends." The War Hawk admonished with a smile that made the growing mold on the cavern walls wither. "A lot can, and has changed in a short amount of time. One never knows when arrangements made for convenience can fall apart."

"Such as our own?" Leaning over the table, Mei replied with a lust-filled grin that looked eager for a confirmation, an excuse to unleash that conflagration trapped underneath layers of civility.

"Exactly."

To himself witnessing this exchange, Ebizō sighed.

"Some things never change."

* * *

 **So to note, not a history lesson really so much as a culture lesson, Shikamaru here is kind of based on EX-PFC Wintergreen from** **Catch 22** **, and will be fulfilling a rather pivotal role in the coming chapters.**


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